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THE 

Trail of the Cloven Foot 















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The Torn Clue to the Lost Gold Mine 




THE TRAIL 

or the 

CLOVEN FOOT 


k.fj 


Ay 


A'HYAT T • VERRILL 


^Author* of 

“tKc Cru.bc of the Cormorant”. 
“In Morgan's Wake I’ 
“Tke Golden City” 



///ustratcc/ Ay 

HUGH SPENCER. 



E P* DUTTON &> COMPANY 
NEW YORK. 



Copyright, 1918 

By E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY 


All Rights Reserved 


i j 

Printed in the United States of America 


OCT 29 |9H 


©CI.A5'03 983 



CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Off for Porto Bello i 

II. Rob’s Find 21 

III. Lost 46 

IV. Mysterious Adventures . . . .71 

V. The Secret of the Sword Hilt . . 93 

VI. In Costa Rica 113 

VII. Off for New Adventures . . . .128 

VIII. The Boys Make a Strange Friend . 137 

IX. A Surprising Discovery . . . .158 

X. Prisoners 168 

XI. The End of the Obeah Man . . . 188 

XII. Fate Takes a Hand 209 

XIII. Strange Discoveries 229 

XIV. The End of the Trail 250 


V 



LIST OP ILLUSTRATIONS 


The Tom Clue to the Lost Gold Mine . Frontispiece 

PAGE 

The Drowned Forest of Gatun Lake . . . $ v 

4 ‘To think of yon bridge bein’ the identical stones 

trod by Morgan and the old Dons” ... 9 S 

Gave one hurried glance, and dropping his ax, 
fled into the house . . . . . . 73 

Forgetting their fears the boys hurried forward 
and entered the thicket 147 

He was bending over the body of a negro caught 

between two jagged rocks at the water’s edge . 193 v 

The Missing Portion of the Precious Document . 196 

A shower of arrows sang through the air and 
spatted spitefully into the raft . . . . 227 








THE 

Trail of the Cloven Foot 
























THE 

TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 



CHAPTER 

I 


Off For Porto Bello 

“ | XONT worry about Rob,” said Mr. Wilson. 

“We’ll look after him. I’ll take him down 
to the Isthmus with Fred, when school 
closes, and the new scenes and life will do him 
good — make him feel less lonely and keep his mind 
busy. Fred’ll be better off too and in case anything 
happens to you, which God forbid — Rob will find a 
father in me, Mac.” 

“I can’t thank you enough, old man, really I can’t,” 
replied Colonel MacGregor, “Rob’s future has been 


2 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


troubling me more than anything else, ever since 
war was declared and I knew I would be called 
to the colors. I didn’t know what I could do, until 
you arrived. It’s asking a lot of you Dave, but 
I know the lad will be in good hands and he’d feel 
terribly lonesome and downhearted among strangers. 
It won’t be for long I hope, and if I — if I shouldn’t 
come back, you’ll find all my affairs in good shape 
and I’m sure Rob will be a credit to you.” 

David Wilson and Colonel Bruce MacGregor had 
been boyhood friends, and though their paths in life 
had carried them far apart, yet never had they lost 
track of each other, and whenever duty, business or 
pleasure, brought them within reach they met and 
revived their life-long friendship. 

When Fred Wilson was old enough to be sent to 
a preparatory school, his father had selected the 
institution which Rob MacGregor attended, and now 
that duty called him to the front, the Colonel sought 
his old friend’s aid with the request that he should 
become Rob’s guardian. 

Thus it came about that Fred and Rob stood upon 
the deck of the Allianca and watched the skyline of 
Manhattan fade from sight in the haze of a June 
afternoon, while, before them, the tumbling blue sea 
stretched southward to far off Christobal. 

To Fred there was nothing novel in the thought 
of going to the Isthmus of Panama, for he had been 
born and reared there. Mr. Wilson had gone to 


OFF FOR PORTO BELLO 


3 


Colon, in the interests of the Panama Railway, 
when fresh from college, and had made his home 
and fortune on the Isthmus and to Fred's ears and 
tongue Spanish was as familiar as English, and he 
felt far more at home in the tropics than in the 
north. 

But to Rob the trip was a wonderful event and 
he almost forgot the grief he felt at his father's de- 
parture in the delightful anticipation of his visit to 
the new and strange land of which he had heard 
so much from his schoolmate and chum. 

“You’ll have to learn Spanish, Bob," said Fred, 
as the two boys talked over the fine times they would 
have. “Of course, all the Americans and lots of the 
natives speak English now; but nearly every one 
speaks Spanish too, and heaps of the boys I know 
can’t speak anything else. I’ll teach you all I can 
on the trip and by the time we land you’ll be able 
to get along pretty well and the rest will come 
easy." 

“Well, I don't know how well a Scotch tongue's 
fitted for twisting about Spanish words,” laughed 
Bob, “but I’ll do my best, Fred." 

“Just pronounce them the way you talk when 
you’re a bit excited or confused and you’ll be all 
right," said Fred, and both boys laughed heartily, 
for Rob's habit of relapsing into the broad Scotch 
of his childhood days was a standing joke and his 
boy friends never tired of teasing him until he un- 


4 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


wittingly fell back upon the dialect of his own 
country. 

Under Fred’s tutelage Rob did famously and by 
the time the cloud-like mountains of the Isthmus 
rose above the sea to the west, he had acquired a 
good start in the Spanish tongue. 

Everything was new and wonderful to Rob and 
the days passed rapidly in Christobal. The stupen- 
dous work of the canal was a revelation to him ; the 
motley population interested him, the luxuriant 
vegetation and jungles, and the drowned forest of 
Gatun Lake, all fascinated him. But when the two 
boys made the journey across the Isthmus and Rob 
gazed for the first time upon the Pacific, his en- 
thusiasm knew no bounds. 

“And to think of the old Dons tramping through 
the forest loaded with armor and discovering yon 
ocean!” he exclaimed. “Why, Fred, ’twas a feat 
worthy of a Scot!” 

Fred laughed. “It was a great deed,” he ad- 
mitted, “but an Englishman did it too — though I 
expect you’ll say he was Scotch — Sir Francis Drake, 
I mean; but I think Morgan’s raid was the most 
wonderful. Just imagine a handful of pirates going 
up the Chagres River and fighting Indians all the 
way, and then marching on Panama and licking the 
Spaniards and sacking the city. It kind of brings 
back those old days to be right here where they 


*<*•1 



The Drowned Forest of Gatun Lake 

5 










r 



I 


» 




-B 











OFF FOR PORTO BELLO 


7 


happened, doesn’t it? Now we’re so near, let’s go 
over to the ruins of Old Panama.” 

A drive of an hour over a dusty road brought 
the boys to the ruins of the famous city rising gaunt 
and forsaken amid the jungle. Just before reach- 
ing the first ruins, the boys stopped to gaze at an 
ancient arched stone bridge beside the roadway. 

“That’s where the pirates entered the city,” said 
Fred, “the old gold road led from the town over 
this bridge.” 

“Man, but ’tis historic ground!” exclaimed Rob, 
“To think of yon bridge bein’ the identical stones 
trod by Morgan and the old Dons.” 

“And just think of all the millions and millions 
of dollars worth of treasure that’s been carted over 
that old bridge, Rob. I say, wouldn’t it be fun to 
hunt for treasure here? They say a lot of it was 
buried hereabouts when Morgan burned the city.” 

So talking, their imaginations carrying them back 
to the bloody old days of the buccaneers, the two 
boys came to the weed grown ruins of that once 
“stately and goodly city.” For several hours, they 
poked about among the crumbled masonry and fallen 
stones, not really expecting to discover anything, 
but yet thrilling with the hope that they might , and 
just as much elated when they stumbled upon a rusty 
old cannon lying hidden in the brush as though they 
had come upon a chest of doubloons. 

“I tell you what,” exclaimed Rob, as they rested 


8 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


in the shade of the tower of the ruined cathedral and 
gazed across the calm waters of the bay towards the 
newer city. “Let’s get a lot of the boys together 
and come over here and go treasure hunting. Of 
course, we won’t find anything; but we can follow 
the old gold road and hunt over all the forts and 
ruins and have lots of sport.” 

“That’s not a bad idea,” agreed Fred; “but why 
not get up a boy scout troop? Then we could go 
camping and scouting and take hikes and hunt for 
old ruins and treasure and learn a lot too. I believe 
father’ll think it a fine scheme and I’m sure plenty 
of boys will join. They’ve been talking about boy 
scouts for a long time and trying to get up nature 
clubs and all sorts of things, but nobody’s got around 
to doing anything. It will be lots more fun than 
just going about by ourselves.” 

All the way back to Christobal the two boys talked 
of nothing else but their new scheme and discussed 
ways and means for carrying it out. 

Mr. Wilson readily gave his consent and support 
to the idea ; most of the American boys and several 
of their Panamanian friends were enthusiastic, and 
in a very short time, the “Boys Scouts of Panama” 
had been organized. To be sure, uniforms and 
equipment were lacking, but they had been ordered, 
and while awaiting their arrival by the returning 
steamer, the scouts put in their time to good ad- 
vantage by drilling, training, tramping, learning 



“To Think of Yon Bridge Bein’ the Identical Stones Trod 
by Morgan and the Old Dons” 


9 




OFF FOR PORTO BELLO 


11 


woodcraft and studying nature. Once the organiza- 
tion was under way, every one became interested 
and the movement received the hearty co-operation 
and support of the grown-ups. The “Star and 
Herald’’ published a paragraph of Scout Notes, 
which soon developed into half a column of boy 
scout news and doings from far and near. Captain 
Stelling, of the Zone Police, devoted his spare time 
to drilling the boys; Prof. Abbott, the botanist, un- 
dertook to teach them something of natural history 
and botany and took them on many a long tramp 
into the forest where a veritable wonderland was 
revealed to them; Dr. Johnson, of the Hospital Staff, 
gave them lessons in first aid and emergency treat- 
ment, and even Major Wilkinson, of the Engineers, 
found time to forget his chronic grouch against the 
world and took the enthusiastic “Scouts” under his 
wing and showed them how to build rough but 
serviceable bridges, how to measure distances and 
altitudes, how to make maps and how to accomplish 
a thousand and one useful things with only their 
hands and machetes for tools and with materials 
supplied by a bountiful tropic nature. 

“I tell you, boys,” said Fred on one occasion. 
“There may be bigger troops of scouts, but I’ll bet 
none of ’em have the advantages we’ve got. Real 
army officers to help us — men who have really 
scouted in the Philippines and out West to show us 
everything, and a real wild jungle to scout in. 


n THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


Wouldn’t those scouts up North be wild to go on 
hikes where there are parrots and monkeys in the 
trees and crocodiles in the rivers and jaguars in the 
jungle.” 

“And where real pirates have looted towns and 
where there’s hidden treasure,” added Rob. 

“And old Cap’n Jack to tell us yarns,” added Tom 
Stelling. “Hurrah for Cap’n Jack,” shouted the 
boys in chorus, for to their minds, old Cap’n Jack, 
the wooden-legged old sailor who kept the ship- 
chandlery store, was the most interesting of all their 
friends. 

The boys were never tired of listening to his 
yarns ; but he insisted they must be busy. “A good 
skipper allers keeps his crew to work,” he told them 
with a chuckle. “Idle han’s is li’ble to mut’ny an’ I 
don’t want no mut’ny on my hands at my time o’ 
life, so if you lads is a goin’ to board my craft and 
make me entertain ye, why ye’ve gotter earn yer 
yarns.” 

So saying, he would give each boy a bit of rope, 
and while they struggled with the intricacies of 
knots and splices, the old salt would tell wonderful 
tales of the sea. 

The little shop beneath the palms was a fascina- 
ting spot to the boys, with its coils of rope, its bales 
of oakum, its tackle blocks — like gigantic bunches 
of grapes — and its delightful “shippy” smell of 
tarred marline and cordage. Always there would 


OFF FOR PORTO BELLO 


13 


be swarthy-skinned seamen lounging about, or bare- 
footed black sailors passing in and out — hardwork- 
ing, unromantic fellows — but, in the boys’ imagina- 
tions, daredevil smugglers or swashbuckling pirates, 
while the dingy turtling and trading schooners, at 
anchor off the docks, became transformed into 
“rakish pirate craft” or treasure-laden galleons as 
the “Scouts” listened to the Cap’n’s stories of ad- 
venture on the seven seas. 

For half a century and more he’d knocked about 
the world. He had traded up and down the Ivory 
Coast; he had been a whaler amid Arctic ice-bergs 
and in desolate Antarctic seas; he had fished for 
pearls among the coral islands of the Pacific and 
had run many a filibustering cargo into Cuban and 
South American ports. His ships had been crushed 
by ice-floes and his boats stove by whales; he had 
languished in Spanish prisons and had been on the 
verge of torture and death by cannibals, and while 
he drew on his imagination at times, yet his actual 
experiences, hair-breadth escapes and adventures 
were innumerable. 

And much of value the boys learned from the 
leathery-faced old skipper, for not only did he teach 
them how to knot and splice in sailorly fashion ; but 
he also taught them simple navigation and how to 
find their way by the stars, moon and sun, for, as he 
expressed it, “A chap never knows when he’ll run 
afoul o’ trouble an’ find hisself offen his course, an’ 


14 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


dead reckonin’ aint no use without a land-fall or a 
startin’ p’int.” 

"O’ course,” he continued, "you lads ain’t fig- 
gerin’ on goin’ to sea or turnin’ sailors — I ain’t never 
heerd o’ boy scout sailors yit; but ye’re a flyin’ o’ 
signals as read 'be prepared’ an’, ’cordin’ to my 
figgerin’, navigatin’ the bush ain’t so diff’rent from 
a navigatin’ the sea, leastwise, if ye don’t know yer 
latitude an’ longitude an’ can’t speak a friendly 
sail for to give ye yer position. I tell ye, lads, 
many a chap lost in the bush would a made port 
safe and under full sail if he’d a know’d the North 
star from the Southern Cross or Orion from old 
Leo. O’ course ye can’t tow a sextant round with 
ye an’ twouldn’t be much use if ye did, when ye 
couldn’t get yer horizon ; but ye take my advice an’ 
ye’ll learn the stars an’ how to steer a course by 
compass an’ a bit about the moon’s phases an’ the 
declination o’ the sun an’ such like things an’ some 
day they’ll come in as handy as a tackle clapped onto 
the main brace.” 

So the boys learned how to box the compass for- 
wards and backwards ; how to "shoot the sun how 
to recognize the stars and the constellations; how 
to wigwag signals with caps and handkerchiefs, and 
thought it all a delightful game, a fascinating part 
of the boy scout training, and little dreamed how 
soon the knowledge obtained would prove of the 
utmost value to some of them. 


OFF FOR PORTO BELLO 


15 


At last the long expected uniforms and equip- 
ment arrived and Rob suggested that the scouts 
should celebrate their first appearance in uniform 
by spending a week tramping and camping. 

But at this the parents of many of the boys re- 
belled. They argued that there were wild animals 
and snakes in the bush; that the boys would get 
fever and be bitten by insects; that they might be 
injured and would certainly be drenched with rain 
and would catch cold, and they insisted that while 
playing scout was all very well in the vicinity of the 
settlements it would never do to let the boys go off 
into the jungle by themselves. 

“It's too bad,” declared Fred. “What’s the good 
of learning all these things if we can’t put them to 
use? It’s no fun camping within sight of the canal 
or hiking along the roads.” 

“Let’s go and ask Cap’n Jack what he thinks,” 
suggested Ned Johnson. 

This seemed a good idea and the disgruntled 
scouts made their way to the tarry little shop beside 
the sea. 

The old sailor listened to their plaint and resting 
his chin in one horny palm, scratched his gray head 
reflectively. 

“ ’Tis kind o’ hard luck to be tied up in mid- 
channel a waitin’ clearance papers when yer all ready 
fer sea,” he remarked, “but yer folks natcherlly 
don’t want ye to come to harm. It’s jest like a 


16 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


owner lettin’ a fine new ship go out on a long v’yage 
with a new skipper what ain’t proved his seaman- 
ship. Many a ship’s sailed with some ol’ sailorman 
as mate with a hint from the owners to keep an eye 
on the skipper, an’ I ’spect if ye lads could ship some 
chap with a master’s certificate to go along o’ this 
cruise an’ keep ye offen rocks an’ lee shores, yer 
folks wouldn’t refuse ye clearance.” 

“Hurrah! that’s a fine idea,” shouted Fred, “but 
who can we get? All the men are too busy to go 
and there aren’t any boys who know more than we 
do and the native guides don’t know anything about 
sickness or looking out for us — they can’t even look 
after themselves and are scared to death at a harm- 
less snake.” 

The old sailor chuckled and his eyes twinkled, 
“I reckon as I could find a chap as might go along 
as mate,” he announced. “It’s been quite a spell 
since I went cruisin’ in the bush an’ this timber leg 
o’ mine aint spechul built for clipper speed; but 
time was, when I’ve stumped clean across the 
Isthmus an’ I don’t reckon I’ve f ergot much o’ what 
I larned o’ navigatin’ the bush an’ keepin’ a well 
crew a-tradin’ on the Gold Coast. If yer folks’ll 
trust old Cap’n Jack at the helm I’ll go along with 
ye this cruise. Lor’ bless ye; ’twill be a reg’lar 
lark!” 

“Three cheers for Cap’n Jack,” cried Rob, and 
scarcely had their shouts died out, ere they were 


OFF FOR PORTO BELLO 


17 


rushing pell mell to their various homes to lay their 
new plans before their parents. 

A few were still doubtful, but Fred and Rob won 
Mr. Wilson's consent; Doctor Johnson and Prof. 
Abbott both agreed that there would be no real 
danger if the old sailor accompanied the boys ; Cap- 
tain Stelling pooh-poohed all objections and de- 
clared he had the greatest faith in the Cap'n, and 
Major Wilkinson grew so apoplectic with indigna- 
tion at the idea that “his boys" would not be able 
to look after themselves — even without the old salt 
— that all fears for the scouts' safety were allayed 
and plans were made for the boys' first real ex- 
perience in the bush. 

Then arose the question of where they were to go. 

“It won’t be any fun unless we have some object 
in view," declared Tom Stelling. “I vote we go 
over to Old Panama. It will be fine and ‘spooky’ 
among the old ruins." 

“That's too unhealthy," objected Ned Johnson. 
“Father was reading a story about the spot the 
other night and said the place was full of fever. 
It's low land you know and we ought to get on high 
ground away from swamps. Couldn’t we go up to 
Cascadas, or somewhere like that?" 

“Oh, that’s too civilized," declared Fred. “It's 
no fun to go camping where there are machine shops 
and forges and the forests have all been burned and 
cleared off to stop mosquitos. We couldn’t find 


18 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


any old ruins, or Spanish trails, or buried treasure 
there. I vote we go to the old Gold Road, then 
we could follow it way into the bush — you know 
Prof. Abbott said no one knew just where it led. 
We could camp out beside it and tell stories about 
all the treasure that used to go over it and all the 
men who were killed along it. Major Wilkinson 
said ’twas paved with dead men’s bones, and we 
might run across some treasure some of the men 
dropped.” 

“Why not start at the beginning of the road, 
then?” said Ned. “We could go down to Porto 
Bello — all the old pirate stories tell about Porto 
Bello — and then we could hike up the road from 
there. There are lots of old ruins at Porto Bello, 
father says, and Drake was buried right off the 
port. It’s an awfully historic place.” 

“That’s bully,” declared the others, “but we’ll 
have to tell the folks our plans and see if they think 
Porto Bello’s all right.” 

“Let’s ask Cap’n Jack first,” suggested Rob. “He 
knows all about these places and then, if he thinks 
it’s all right, we’ll tell our folks. If Porto Bello 
won’t do, perhaps the Cap’n can suggest something.” 

“Yes, there’s plenty o’ ol’ ruins at Porto Bello,” 
declared the old salt after the boys had told him of 
their plans. “An’ I reck’n it’s healthy enough now- 
adays. Course, in the ol’ times, all them ports was 
pestholes, but there’s high land about Porto Bello 


OFF FOR PORTO BELLO 


19 


an’ it’s a mighty purty spot. I used to have a ship- 
mate what had a bit o’ a plantation there an' he 
never had sickness nor fever. Yes, I reck’n Porto 
Bello’ll do fust rate.” 

“Well, how can we get there?” asked Ned. “It’s 
too far to walk and there aren’t any regular boats.” 

“I ’xpect we’ll have ter sail,” replied the Cap’n. 
“There’s the Bonita off there, she’s boun’ down the 
coast — goin’ over to Cartagena — an’ I reck’n An- 
tonio’ll be willin’ fer to run in dost to shore an’ 
drop us off at Porto Bello. I’ll take that whaleboat 
o’ mine in tow an’ we kin come back in her an’ she 
may be mighty handy for fishin’ an’ goin’ up the 
cricks.” 

“Oh, that will be fine,” declared Tom, “We can 
play we’re pirates going to attack the town — An- 
tonio looks just like a real pirate, and we’ll steal in 
under the guns of the fort with muffled oars and 
'scale the battlements’ just as they did in the old 
days.” 

The old sailor burst into a bellow of laughter. 
“Lor’ love ye !” he exclaimed. “There ain’t no guns 
and ye could make all the hullabaloo ye’ve a mind 
to an’ nobody’d mind ye, but aint it kind o’ queer 
goin’s-on fer boy scouts to be a goin’ a piratin’? 
I thought you chaps was fer 'doin’ of a good deed 
daily.’ Don’t ’pear to me as cuttin’ o’ them poor 
Spaniards’ throats an’ a robbin’ ’em o’ their treasure 


20 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


was spechully 'good deeds.’ ” The old fellow 
chuckled at his own humor. 

“Oh, you’re just trying to jolly us,” declared Ned. 
“I’ll bet you’ll have just as much fun as we do and 
will play pirate captain and will yell 'for St. George 
and Merry England’ just as loud as any of us, when 
we 'charge the ramp with leveled pikes.’ ” 

“Like as not, like as not,” agreed the Cap’n. 
“Sailors is allers a passel o’ fools when on shore 
leave, an’ skylarkin’s their middle name. Now trim 
sail an’ steer a course fer yer folks, lads, an’ if they 
says as how Porto Bello’s to be the port I’ll tell 
Antonio.” 

There was no objection made to the boys’ plans, 
and two days later, all the scouts and their belong- 
ings were safely stowed in Cap’n Jack’s whaleboat, 
and amid the cheers and farewells of friends and 
families, the boys were rowed out to the Bonita and 
tumbled over her rails like a crowd of veritable 
pirates. Sails were soon spread, anchor was hoisted, 
the Bonita caught the breeze, and swiftly gathering 
headway, slipped through the turquoise water to- 
wards historic old Porto Bello. 



Rob's Find 


T HE sail down the coast was uneventful, and, 
to the boys, seemed all too short, for they 
took possession of the Bonita at once and 
swarmed here, there and everywhere. 

Antonio — fiercely mustached and glittering eyed 
— was a good natured, obliging chap, despite his 
piratical appearance, and he showed his strong white 
teeth in a merry grin at the boys' antics ; seemingly 
enjoying their fun as much as the scouts themselves. 

Moreover, he allowed the boys to steer, and, with 
the Cap'n's help, explained the uses of the various 
ropes and rigging of his trim little schooner, for 
Captain Jack insisted the boys must make the most 
of their time. 

“No Tamin' never comes amiss/' he declared 
philosophically. "Many a landsman might o' been 


21 


22 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


saved from shipwreck if he'd a knowed how ter 
handle sail an’ steer a course.” 

So, under the tutelage of the two sailormen, the 
boys rapidly acquired a knowledge of the rudiments 
of sailing, and when the jib was dropped and the 
Bonita was hove-to off Porto Bello, the scouts 
handled sheets and downhauls, and glowed with 
pride at the praise of their handiness bestowed upon 
them by the captain and Antonio. 

“I'd have ye as smart an’ handy a crew as men- 
o'-warsmen in a week,” chuckled the old sailor. 
“But I 'spect it's jest as well ye ain't a cruisin' no 
further; reckon mebbe ye’d git so everlastin' fond 
o' the sea ye'd make me walk the plank and go off 
a piratin' with Tony fer yer cap’n.” 

But the boys had no desire to remain longer at 
sea, for, close at hand, was the entrance to Porto 
Bello's harbor and on the bluff they could distinguish 
the outlines of crumbling old forts amid the 
greenery. 

Bidding boisterous goodbyes to Antonio and his 
crew, the scouts tumbled into the waiting whale 
boat, and casting off the painter, shoved the craft 
from the Bonita's side. Seizing the long oars, the 
boys went bravely at the task of rowing ashore, 
while the grizzled old captain, standing in the stern 
with hands grasping the steering oar, his wooden 
leg braced firmly against a thwart, a short black 
pipe in his teeth and an ancient tarpaulin hat 


ROB’S FIND 


23 


jammed on his head, might well have passed as one 
of Drake’s or Morgan’s old sea-dogs who had 
stepped out of the centuries past. 

“Give way lads,” he shouted, swinging the boat’s 
head towards the land, “Yonder’s Porto Bello an’ 
the Dons ain’t sighted us. Lively now, my hearties ! 
We’ll take ’em by surprise an’ drive ’em from yon 
heights.” The old salt fairly shook with merriment 
at his nonsense. 

“Hurrah !” shouted the boys, as they pulled lustily 
at their oars. “Hurrah for Cap’n Jack and his 
pirate crew!” and all laughed joyously as the boat 
slipped through the blue water towards the shore. 

But it was much farther than had appeared and 
very soon the hot sun and unusual exertion had their 
effects upon the boys. Sweat poured from their 
faces, the laughter and shouts gave way to silence, 
save for their panting breaths, and the oars lagged 
and missed their strokes. 

“Whew!” exclaimed Fred at last. “Isn’t it hot, 
though.” 

“And I’ll bet this oar weighs a ton,” declared 
another. 

“It must be miles and miles yet,” panted Fred. 
“I wonder if we’ll ever get there.” 

The captain chuckled, “Kind o’ hard pullin’ eh ?” 
he asked. “Well lads, take yer time. No use a 
gettin’ all tuckered out. Ye won’t have no wind 
left to lick the Dons yonder, if ye ain’t keerful.” 


24 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“Oh, bother that nonsense,” exclaimed one of the 
scouts petulantly. “If I can only get ashore and 
lie in the shade I’ll not stir, even if there is treasure 
there.” 

They had now reached the entrance to the nar- 
row, creek-like harbor and the boys were disgusted 
to see a good-sized village on the shore, while op- 
posite, were the quarries and shops used when the 
canal was being built. 

“Confound it,” cried Ned, “we’ve had all this 
long row for nothing, this place is just full of peo- 
ple. Why didn’t you tell us, Captain?” 

“Ye’ll find plenty o’ country up the harbor a 
bit,” replied the old salt. “Thought ye knowed ye’d 
find a settlement hereabouts, but bless ye, these folks 
ain’t goin’ ter trouble ye nor bother ’bout yer non- 
sense none. Look yonder, there’s a mighty good bit 
o’ ol’ ruin up top o’ the bluff beyond the village. 
Reckon we’ll pull up an’ land on the beach under the 
palms there.” 

A short pull and the Captain swung the boat 
shoreward, and, with a little grating sound, the bow 
ran upon the sandy beach of a small cove out of 
sight of the squalid little town. 

“Up an’ at ’em lads,” cried the old sailor, but the 
scouts didn’t even deign to reply, and wearily drag- 
ging themselves up the beach, threw themselves 
down in the shade of the palms, dead tired out. 

Meanwhile, the captain bustled about, unloading 


ROB’S FIND 


25 


the various packages and belongings of his young 
friends from the boat, and stumping about on his 
wooden leg apparently oblivious of the midday sun. 

“I say,” suddenly exclaimed Fred, “it’s a shame 
to let Cap’n Jack do all that hard work while we lie 
here and rest. We’re a great lot of scouts to get 
done up by that little pull.” 

Jumping to his feet, he hurried down to the boat 
followed by his comrades. 

With the aid of so many hands the boat was soon 
unloaded and the baggage carried up the beach 
and then, the boat having been drawn half its 
length onto the sand and securely fastened, the Cap- 
tain suggested they should have lunch. 

“There’s a bit o’ a crick a flowin’ inter the harbor 
yonder,” he remarked. “Reckon it’s where the old 
Dons useter fill the casks o’ their ships. One o’ 
you lads run over an’ fill the bucket an’ I’ll start a 
fire an’ we’ll have grub ready in a jiffy.” 

The meal was a great success and the boys ate 
heartily with appetites sharpened by their long row, 
and all vowed that Cap’n Jack was a famous cook. 
As they squatted about on the sand, once more 
bubbling over with exuberant spirits, and laughing 
and chattering, Fred suddenly uttered an exclama- 
tion of surprise. 

“Hello!” he cried, “there are people watching 
us. Just look there.” Everyone turned, to see two 


26 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


half -naked negro boys standing at the edge of the 
brush a few yards distant. 

The larger of the two grinned as he saw his 
presence was discovered and took a step forward. 

“Yo’ wahn’ guide fo’ see de ruin', Sahs?” he 
asked. 

'‘Why, he speaks English," exclaimed Ned in 
surprise. 

The captain chuckled. “Course he does," he re- 
plied. “They’re Jamaica boys. Quite a passel o' 
Jamaica folks squatted over hereabouts after the 
big ditch was finished." 

Then, addressing the ragged urchins, he con- 
tinued. “No, sonny, we don’t want nary guides, 
but if you young monkeys wants to earn a few cop- 
pers I reckon we kin give ye a job. I ain’t minded 
to play pack mule in this sun, a h’istin’ this ’ere 
cargo atop o’ the bluff, an’ I don’t guess the boys 
here are a hankerin’ arter the job, neither. You 
chaps tote the dunnage to the top o’ the hill an’ ye’ll 
earn a few bits.” 

“Arl right, Chief," grinned the darkies, and seiz- 
ing some of the bundles, and placing them on their 
woolly heads, the two disappeared up the narrow 
path that led towards the summit of the bluff. 

Presently they returned, accompanied by half a 
dozen of their fellows, and by the time lunch was 
over the last of the baggage had been carried up 
the hill, and the scouts, led by Cap’n Jack, started 


ROB’S FIND 


27 


for the trail empty-handed. It was a steep, stiff 
climb, with the vertical sun beating down upon them, 
and the boys were heartily thankful that the bag- 
gage had been transported on other heads than 
theirs. But when the last turn of the path was 
gained and the boys found themselves on the hill 
top, they forgot their tired knees and perspiring 
bodies, for close at hand, and crowning the summit 
of the bluff, was a massive, age-gray Spanish fort, 
still intact and impressive despite the ravages of 
nearly five centuries. 

To the scouts, this ancient citadel was a fascin- 
ating spot and a constant joy and they insisted that 
camp must be made upon the cracked stone flagging 
worn smooth by the tramp of mail-clad cavaliers. 
Here the boys remained for two days, roaming the 
ruins, and exploring every nook and corner. To 
them, the crumbling fortress was replete with the 
mystery and romance of bygone ages; a spot red- 
olent of the brave deeds and bloody days of the 
past, and with boyish imagination, they were trans- 
ported back to the times of Drake and Morgan. It 
mattered not that the battlements were draped in 
vines and moss, that the broad deep moat was dry 
and choked with weeds and brush, that the em- 
brasures were the haunt of scurrying lizards while 
the one time magazine sheltered a family of ragged 
negroes and their flocks, or that close at hand was 


28 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


the modern village of Porto Bello with its squalid 
huts and corrugated iron roofs. 

From the parapet, they looked down upon the 
same blue, sparkling sea which had borne the fleets 
of Balboa and of Drake. Within the quaint lan- 
tern-like sentry boxes they peered forth from the 
narrow slits through which armed sentinels had 
spied the flashing sails and black flags of Morgan 
and his pirate crews. Beneath the frowning walls 
was the same snug harbor whereon countless gal- 
leons and plate ships had swung to anchor, the gay 
banners of Castile and Leon snapping from their 
mastheads and their holds filled to overflowing with 
the blood-stained loot and treasure of New Spain. 
And when, among the tangled shrubbery and fallen 
masonry, they found an ancient carronade, their 
enthusiasm knew no bounds. 

Had not this corroded, ornate gun once hurled 
its messengers of death against the attacking buc- 
caneers? Had not these very walls run red with 
blood of Spaniard and of Briton? Up these very 
cactus grown slopes the fierce sea-dogs of Morgan 
had swarmed, weapons in teeth, fierce visaged, mad 
with the lust for blood and gold ; and down this slope 
full many had plunged again, screaming in agony 
or silent in death, as cutlass met rapier and pistols 
flashed and halberds bit through flesh and bone and 
sinew. And upon these ramparts, across these very 
stones, the struggling, swaying, cursing, smoke- 


29 


ROB’S FIND 

vl 

grimed hosts had surged, while shouts for Saint 
Iago and Saint George had mingled in the furious 
din of battle. Such thoughts filled the boy’s minds 
and every tale they had heard of conquistador, of 
pirate and of buccaneer became realities within this 
hoary stronghold of Spain’s greatness. 

All too quickly the hours of daylight passed, and 
when the day was done, and the great tropic moon 
rode in the velvet sky, and weird shadows filled the 
angles of the walls, the boys gathered about their 
camp fire and begged Cap’n Jack to tell them stories. 
With the fitful glare of the fire touching his leathery, 
weather-beaten face, his fringe of white whisker 
and his grizzled hair, the old seaman related tale 
after tale of his adventures and spun many a 
wondrous yarn of the Spanish Main. And so viv- 
idly did he picture the scenes, so realistic did the 
stories seem, that the boys could half believe the 
leaves rustling in the breeze were the muffled 
sounds of buccaneers crawling through the brush, 
and that the swaying shadows of the palms were 
mail-clad sentinels pacing the ramparts. 

But despite the fascination of the spot, the boys 
welcomed the announcement that all was in readi- 
ness for a start along the famous Gold Road. 
Everyone was up betimes the next morning, and 
after an early breakfast, the boys shouldered their 
packs, strapped on their machetes, and followed by 
the darkeys carrying the heavy luggage, the little 


30 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


procession set off on the ancient cobbled road over 
which countless millions of gold had been carried 
in centuries past. 

The scouts were all athrill with excitement as 
they trudged along through the dense jungle that 
bordered the way, but a shade of disappointment 
swept over them when they saw the negroes’ huts 
and small gardens scattered here and there. 

“It takes all the mystery and romance away, to 
have people living all about,” complained Fred. 

“Yes, we might just as well have stayed about 
Colon,” agreed Rob. 

“Wait a bit lads, wait a bit,” admonished the Cap- 
tain. “Ye’ll not run afoul o’ any folks arter we’ve 
made a bit more offing, so to speak. They’ll be 
right handy here; fruit an’ garden truck won’t come 
amiss when we’re done a-campin’, lads.” 

Presently, the low and tangled brush gave way 
to the true forest with its enormous trees. No 
more huts or clearings were seen and the boys moved 
along the weed-grown old road through the cool, 
shadowy, semi-twilight of the forest. 

“Man, but this is grand !” exclaimed Rob. 

“I’ll bet there’s all sorts of beasts and snakes and 
things in these woods,” declared Fred. “Wouldn’t 
it be fine if we could see a jaguar, or a big boa con- 
strictor, or a tapir?” 

“Ye’ll not be a runnin’ afoul o’ such critters here- 
abouts,” declared the Captain. “They stows ’em- 


ROB’S FIND 


31 


selves away, snug an’ safe, in the bush; but ye 
might sight a troop o’ monkeys if ye keep your eyes 
and ears open.” 

“Isn’t this a good place to camp?” asked Ned, 
“We’re right in the woods and we could explore 
all about.” 

“No, sirree,” replied the Captain. “ ’Tain’t no 
place for campin’. There’s nary a bit o’ runnin’ 
water an’ its too all-fired damp. Ye’d be e’t alive by 
mosquitos arter nightfall. We’ll keep our course 
under full sail for a bit ’till we make port at some 
spot where there’s a bit o’ sunshine an’ fresh water.” 

“That shows how green I am,” admitted Ned 
with a laugh. “Of course, we must have water and 
I remember father warned us not to camp where 
there was no sunlight.” 

Chatting and laughing, the boys tramped on, their 
interest kept ever alive by the strange birds which 
sang and called from the trees, the great flashing, 
blue morpho butterflies that flitted across the road- 
way, and the wonderful forms of vegetation which 
hemmed them in. 

Flocks of noisy parroquets flashed from tree- 
top to tree-top and filled the forest with their shrill 
cries. Several times, great green parrots screeched 
at the passing scouts from the shelter of the foliage, 
and, once or twice, the harsh screams of macaws 
broke the silence and the boys stopped and sought 
eagerly among the greenery for a glimpse of the 


32 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


huge scarlet and blue birds; and when they spied 
a flock of grotesque, enormous-billed toucans, feed- 
ing on some wild fruit above the roadway, the boys 
grew greatly excited. 

But all such things were forgotten when Fred’s 
sharp eyes discovered a monkey peering at the 
strangers from his safe perch far up in an immense 
tree. 

‘There’s another,” cried Tom, as the boys gath- 
ered about and gazed fascinated at the droll little 
creature. 

“Oh, I see two more,” exclaimed Ned. 

“There’s a whole crowd of them,” shouted Fred. 

Sure enough, as the scouts searched the tree-tops 
with eager eyes, one monkey after another was dis- 
covered and then, as if for the boys’ especial benefit, 
the troop of long-tailed, funny beasts commenced 
to chatter and leap about, chasing one another 
among the branches, jumping from limb to limb, 
hanging by their tails and cutting all sorts of capers, 
until the boys roared with laughter at their antics. 

“Aren’t they human-looking things though,” re- 
marked Fred. “I don’t see how any one can bear 
to kill them.” 

“Purty human, purty human,” agreed the Cap- 
tain, who had seated himself upon a fallen tree while 
the boys watched the monkeys. “There’s a heap o’ 
chaps hereabout that ain’t much humaner. Minds 
me o’ a chanty I useter hear the darkey stevedores 


ROB’S FIND (33 

a singin’ of down in Demerary. Went sutthin like 
this, near as I can recollec’ : 

“A nigger an’ a monkey a settin’ on a rail, 

Ring up the rumor ’til morn, 

Only diff’rence was the monkey had a tail, 

Ring up the rumor ’til morn.” 

As the old skipper bellowed out the words of the 
quaint chanty the monkeys screeched with alarm at 
the unwonted sound, and with leaps and bounds, 
crashed off through the wilderness, while the boys 
laughed heartily at the song and the monkeys’ 
fright. 

A short distance farther on, the road commenced 
to ascend a hill and, just beyond the summit, 
crossed a tumbling little stream on an ancient stone 
bridge. 

“Hurrah, here’s water!” exclaimed Ned. “Now 
we can camp.” 

“And there’s a real, old Spanish bridge,” cried 
Fred, “just like the ones you read about in pirate 
stories. Look at the little sentry boxes on each side. 
I’ll bet old Morgan’s walked over that himself.” 

“Like as not, like as not,” muttered the Captain 
as he looked about with a critical eye. “Aye,” he 
continued after a moment’s silence, “I reckon we 
can find a good berth hereabouts. I’m a bit tuck- 
ered out, a-stumpin’ along with this jury-rig leg o’ 


34 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT, 


mine, so I’ll jest drop anchor by the bridge here 
an’ let you lads cruise about a bit. Some o’ ye can 
go up stream and t’others down, an’ when ye heave 
in sight o’ a bit o' dry high ground, free o’ trees, 
jest sing out.” 

The boys, who had been clambering about the old 
bridge and exploring the crumbling sentry boxes, 
needed no second bidding, but dashed into the brush 
bordering the roadside. 

The Captain chuckled as he heard their exclama- 
tions when they found their way barred by the 
thorny palms, twisted vines and sharp-edged saw- 
grass concealed beneath the soft mantle of greenery. 

“How can we ever get through here?” cried Tom, 
as he struggled with the dense and tangled vegeta- 
tion. “I'm all scratched and I can’t move forward 
or back.” 

“Haste makes waste,” called the Captain, “Ye’ll 
have to go a bit easy lads an’ cut a path with your 
machetes. That’s what ye’re a carryin’ on ’em fer. 
Thought ye’d find a-rompin’ through a tropic jungle 
wasn’t all beer an’ skittles, so to speak.” 

“Well, we are dubs,” admitted the boys. “The 
Major showed us how to use machetes and then we 
forgot all about them the very first time we needed 
them.” 

Drawing their long, keen-bladed, knife-like 
machetes, the boys hacked and cut at the tough 
stems and vines, and found little difficulty in pene- 


ROB’S FIND 


35 


trating the jungle. But it was slow, hot work, and 
they were all glad when Rob called out that he had 
found a fine spot for a camp. 

Cap’n Jack and the boys soon joined him and the 
sailor, after glancing about, agreed that it was an 
ideal camping site. 

The place Rob had found was a level, open space 
on a low knoll beside the brook, with the forest sur- 
rounding it on three sides, and forming a sort of 
island of sward and weeds in the edge of the jungle. 

Telling the boys to busy themselves cutting away 
the weeds and low bushes while he prepared lunch, 
the Captain sent the colored boys scurrying after 
fuel and water and busied himself getting out the 
provisions and cooking utensils. 

The scouts set bravely to work, cutting and 
slashing at the low growth and clumps of bushes, 
and keeping a sharp lookout for snakes or biting 
ants, as cautioned by the Captain. 

Presently, in chopping through a tangle of creep- 
ing vines, Rob's machete struck some hidden object 
with a metallic sound. Curious to see what it was, 
the boy peered into the tangle, and the next instant, 
gave a shout that brought his comrades to him on 
the run. 

“What's the matter?" cried one. 

“Is it a snake?" asked another. 

“Did you get bitten? Where is it?" inquired a 
third. 


36 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“Mon, mon, ’tis treasure trove !” yelled the excited 
Scotch youth. “Look yonder, there amang the 
briar, an' ye'll see.” 

Crowding about, the boys gazed — half doubt- 
ingly, but filled with excitement, at the spot Rob 
indicated. 

“I see it,” cried Ned. “Hurrah for Rob.” 

“I’ll bet it’s doubloons,” shouted Fred. 

“Perhaps it’s jewels and plate,” suggested Tom. 

“Let’s have a squint at it, lads,” said the Captain, 
who had dropped pots and pans at Rob’s shout and 
had hurried to the spot. 

“There ’tis, Cap’n,” cried Ned. “Look there, 
just back of that stout vine. Can’t you see it? It’s 
a big wooden chest with bands around it and a ring 
on top. Let’s hurry up and get it out and see how 
much treasure’s inside.” 

The Captain stuck his head among the vines, 
looked carefully at the object Rob had found and 
rose slowly to his feet. 

“Blow me, but it do look uncommon like a chest,” 
he declared. “I’d never a believed ye’d find nary 
a bit o’ loot lads, I thought your treasure seekin’ 
jest a bit o’ fun an’ nonsense. But yonder’s a chest 
an’ a mighty old one, or I’m no sailor. Clear away 
the bush, lads, an’ we’ll have it out in a jiffy.” 

Filled with intense excitement at the find, the 
boys worked rapidly and soon had the vines cut 
away, exposing a massive square of time-blackened 


ROB’S FIND 


37 


wood half-buried in the earth. About it, were bands 
of metal, green and corroded with age, and, bound 
to its surface by the roots of plants and the tendrils 
of creepers, was a heavy metal ring. 

Grasping this with both hands, the Captain heaved 
with all his strength, but the object refused to budge 
an inch from its bed. 

“Whew!” exclaimed the old salt as he straight- 
ened up and wiped his forehead with his huge 
red ’kerchief. “Dunno what’s stowed in there, lads ; 
but whatever ’tis, it’s mortal heavy. Just run a bit 
o’ stick through that ring an’ bear a hand an’ we’ll 
all heave together.” 

A stout stick was soon brought by one of the 
darkies, who had become almost as excited as the 
scouts over the strange discovery, and thrusting the 
pole through the ring, everyone took a firm hold. 

“Now then, lads,” directed the Captain, “when I 
give the word all heave to once an’ up she comes. 
Ready? One, two, three; all together, heave ho!” 

With all their strength, everyone strained at 
the bar, there was a little cracking sound and the 
next instant all tumbled head over heels as the pole 
came free. 

“Well, I’ll be scuttled!” exclaimed the Captain, 
as recovering himself, he gazed in perplexity at the 
strange object. 

Rapidly the boys scrambled to their feet and each 
in turn uttered an exclamation of surprise, for a 


38 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


glance showed them that the ring had pulled from 
the wood, drawing with it a long, rusty bolt and 
leaving a mass of broken, crumbling, rotten wood 
where it had been. 

“Why it’s not a chest at all,” exclaimed Fred. 

“Nary a bit on it,” agreed the Captain. “Reckon 
that’s a good joke on all of us. Yonder’s jest a bit 
o’ old timber with a eye-bolt a stickin’ in it. Dunno 
what ’twas, but reckon some chap had a mill or 
suthin’ hereabouts an’ that’s all that’s left of it.” 

“Well, we had the fun of it any way,” remarked 
Fred, philosophically. 

“An’ I reckon ye’ve ’arned yer grub, so come 
along an’ eat,” chuckled Cap’n Jack. 

“Now let’s put up the camp,” suggested Fred, 
when the meal was over. “Then we’ll have all the 
rest of the time free.” 

“If ye’ll take a bit o’ advice from me ye’ll tend 
to sutthin’ else fust,” remarked the Captain. 
“There’s no use a startin’ out on a cruise on land 
or sea without officers,” he continued. “An’ ’ceptin’ 
a sort o’ supercargo — the same bein’ a one-legged ol’ 
sailor man — no one’s any more say than t’other in 
this crew. Ye’ll have to ’lect officers an’ each lad’ll 
have to do his trick at this, that, an’ t’other. Les- 
sen each lad knows what his duties is, things’ll never 
go smooth an’ ship-shape.” 

“Of course, we’ll have to have officers,” agreed 
Fred. “Captain Stelling said the only way to have a 


ROB’S FIND 


successful camping trip was to have every boy have 
certain duties; but we hadn’t thought about it be- 
fore, with so many other things to interest us.” 

“Fred’s the captain of the troop,” declared Rob. 
“Why not let him name the other officers. How 
many do we want, anyway?” 

“I reckon a cap’n an’ mate an’ a cook an’ a 
steward’s about all ye’ll want — aside from the su- 
percargo,” replied the Captain with a laugh. “An’ 
if ye’ll take my advice, ye’ll ’lect ’em for a week 
at a time. Then them as wasn’t officers can have 
their whack at s’arvin’, an’ all’ll have a fair show.” 

“That’s a bully scheme,” cried Ned. “I vote for 
Fred as captain.” 

Everyone agreed on this, and in a few minutes, 
Tom had been chosen as steward, Ned as lieutenant 
or “mate” and only the cook remained to be elected. 

“No use a tryin’ to app’int a cook,” declared 
Cap’n Jack. “I reckon the supercargo ’ll attend 
to that. I’ve no mind to be a rummagin’ about an’ 
I’ll jest hang ’round camp and enj’y myself an’ 
might jes’ as well be a putterin’ round cookin’ as 
not. ’Sides,” he added with a chuckle, “I’m a get- 
tin’ a bit pertic’ler ’bout my grub, now I’m a gettin’ 
old, an’ I dunno as any o’ you lads could cook to 
suit me. Anyhow, I ain’t agreeable to let any o’ ye 
lose a good time by hangin’ about camp an’ a cookin’ 
grub.” 


40 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“That’s fine of you, Cap’n,” cried the boys in 
chorus. 

“And no one can really cook except you, any- 
way,” added Tom. 

This matter having thus been settled, the boys 
proceeded to make camp, and having already prac- 
ticed the work under Captain Stelling’s and 
Major Wilkinson’s directions, they found little dif- 
ficulty in the undertaking. 

The site chosen for the camp was at one edge of 
the knoll, where several good sized trees rose free 
from underbrush, for while the boys had been cau- 
tioned to select a spot where there was open air 
and sunlight, they had also been warned against 
placing their camp where there was no shade during 
the day. 

Cutting a long, stout pole and two shorter, forked 
poles, the boys placed the former on the ground 
with each of its ends beside a tree. Over this pole 
was spread a large, waterproof tarpaulin, with its 
center along the pole. Next, one end of the pole 
was lifted and set in the fork on the end of one of 
the shorter poles and then, by pushing upward on 
the latter, the ridge pole with the tarpaulin was 
slid up along the tree for six or eight feet. The end 
of the forked pole was then set upon the ground, 
thus holding the ridge pole in place, and the opera- 
tion was repeated with the other end of the ridge 
pole. Then, several boys grasped each forked pole, 


ROB’S FIND 


41 


and shoving upward together, lifted the pole and 
tarpaulin to a height of ten feet where it was se- 
cured by the simple means of setting the forked 
sticks on the ground. 

The next step was to spread the tarpaulin, which 
was done by passing tough vines or “bush ropes” 
through the eyelets in the edges of the canvas and 
securing these to light poles driven firmly into the 
earth at an angle. Thus, a large roofed shelter was 
provided, open at ends and sides, for in the tropics 
a free circulation of air is essential and rain is the 
only thing to be guarded against. Just within the 
edge of the tarpaulin, two strong, forked uprights 
were erected at each side of the camp; shorter 
forked sticks were wedged against these for braces, 
a stout pole was laid across the forks parallel to the 
edge of the roof, and as soon as the ground was 
smoothed and a canvas ground-cloth spread, the 
camp was complete. Then the boys placed their 
baggage within the shelter, unpacked their bags, and 
slung their hammocks between the poles extending 
along the edges of the camp. 

All this took but a very short time to accomplish, 
for the boys had practised it many times, and each 
knew just what to do and all worked together with- 
out confusion. 

“Mighty well an' smartly done, I says,” declared 
the old Captain when everything was at last com- 
pleted. “An’ a mighty comfy camp too, I reckon. 


42 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


Land! It's been a everlastin’ time sence I snored 
out in the bush, a lyin’ in a hammock.” 

“Now everything’s ready for the night,” said 
Fred, “what do you fellows say to taking a long 
hike along the road?” 

“I think we’ve hiked enough for one day,” de- 
clared Ned. “Besides, we’ll have to walk down the 
road anyway when we move camp. I vote we find 
out what that old piece of wood of Rob’s is.” 

“I was thinkin’ of that myself,” said Rob. “I 
don’t believe it’s part of a mill. Perhaps it’s a bit 
of an old camp or a house, or something else. 
Maybe there’s treasure buried underneath it. I vote 
we dig it up and find out.” 

“That’s a good scheme I think,” agreed Tom. 
“Even if there’s nothing underneath, we can find 
out what the thing was which fooled us all.” 

“It suits me all right,” declared Fred, and, as all 
the others were of the same mind, it was decided 
to act on Ned’s suggestion. 

Armed with a light intrenching spade, their 
machetes and a hoe, the boys proceeded to dig away 
the earth about the piece of timber which had been 
mistaken for a treasure chest. 

Captain Jack, rather amused at the boys’ under- 
taking, sat near by, watching the work and occasion- 
ally offering some word of advice or direction. The 
ground, near the surface, was filled with roots and 
digging was slow, hard work; but presently, loose 


ROB’S FIND 


43 


earth was reached and the boys worked rapidly. 
Suddenly the spade came into contact with some 
metal object, and instantly, the boys became greatly 
excited and dug furiously to expose it. 

“It looks like a piece of big pipe,” exclaimed Fred, 
as a portion of the metal was uncovered. 

The Captain had drawn close and was squatting 
down watching the boys intently. “Well, I’ll be 
blowed!” he cried. “Who’d a thought it. That’s 
a gun you’re a diggin’ out lads — a cannon ye know 
— an’ that bit o’ timber what bamboozled us is the 
end o’ the carriage a-stickin’ up. Reckon as how 
there must a been a fort or a bat’ry hereabouts, 
mos’ likely to guard the bridge yonder.” 

The breech of the gun was now plainly seen and 
the boys, elated at having discovered something that 
savored of bloody days of the past, dug away with 
redoubled vigor. 

But the sun was hot and by the time the gun was 
fully uncovered they were glad to cease their labors 
and rest in their hammocks in the cool shade of the 
camp. 

“I guess it’s no use digging any more,” remarked 
Tom. “I’m all tired out and now we can see the 
cannon what’s the use of working any more. We 
can’t get it out of the hole anyway.” 

“The others agreed that there was no real object 
in delving further, even though the Captain slyly 


44 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


hinted that a chest of treasure might be hidden un- 
der the old gun. 

“Mos’ likely a lively little set-to was pulled off 
just hereabouts,” he remarked. “Mebbe, that old 
gun was a standin’ off a passel o’ pirates what was 
a aimin’ to pass the bridge yonder. I reckon them 
old stones an’ sentry boxes could tell a mighty in- 
tr’estin’ yarn if they could palaver a bit. Don’t ye 
think you’re a losin’ o’ a mighty good chance o’ 
findin’ treasure by not diggin’ up the whole o’ this 
ere knoll ? I reckon it’s bare o’ trees ’count o’ bein’ 
used for a fort or bat’ry once. Folks hereabouts 
say as how trees won’t grow where human folks’ 
blood’s been spilt. Why lads! for all ye know, ye 
may be a settin’ right atop o’ a million or more.” 

“Well, you’re welcome to it then,” laughed Fred. 
“We’ve had enough digging for one day.” 

“Do you really think that old gun was used to 
keep pirates from passing the bridge?” asked Rob. 

“I dunno,” replied the Captain wagging his head. 
“But honest Injun, I don’t reckon as ’twas. Timber 
don’t last sech an everlastin’ time hereabouts, an’ 
seein’ as that gun carriage aint all rotted away to 
nothin’ I don’t b’lieve it’s been knockin’ about here 
since piratin’ days. No, sir, more likely that gun 
was set up durin’ one o’ these folks revolutionary 
shindies. Mebbe ’twas the rebels’ an’ mebbe the 
gov’ment’s.” 

“But, Captain, how could it be buried so deep if 


ROB’S FIND 


45 


it hasn’t been here very long?” asked Fred, who had 
been thinking over the matter. 

The Captain scratched his head, rubbed his chin 
and was silent for a moment. “Arsk me suthin’ 
easier lad,” he replied at last. “If ye’d run across 
the gun buried like that an’ no wood a stickin’ to 
it I’d a said it had a been here a mortal long time. 
Mebbe it tumbled into a hole — mos’ likely ’twas set 
down back o’ a earthwork or in a pit — an’ the earth 
tumbled in atop of it since. Kind o’ funny too. 
There ain’t nary a sign o’ old buildin’s or walls, nor 
nothin’ else here — looks like as if some chap just 
toted that old gun out o’ the road an’ set it up 
here for a lark.” 


F OR several days the boys tramped and ex- 
plored about their camp. They fished in 
the stream, spent hours listening to the Cap- 
tain’s yarns of the sea and grew brown and strong 
and acquired a knowledge of the life and flora of 
the forest. They even had a glorious game, in 
which half the boys took the part of pirates and 
the others pretended to be Spaniards, and the latter 
strove to prevent the "pirates” from crossing the 
old bridge and capturing the camp. Cap’n Jack 
acted as referee and when the "pirates” forced their 
way over the barricade, erected in the center of the 
bridge, and struggling with the defenders, gained 
the road beyond, the old seaman cheered them 
lustily. 

On the day following this sham battle, the boys 
decided on a long hike along the road and set out 
early in the morning. The air was cool and pleasant 
46 


LOST 




in the shadow of the forest, there was plenty to 
interest the scouts at every turn and the boys wan- 
dered on for mile after mile. 

Sometimes the road was almost lost among the 
jungle which had encroached upon it, there were 
many places where it had been quite obliterated, and 
the boys found it great fun and good practise trac- 
ing the old trail. Sometimes they were compelled 
to ford narrow streams or to cross on fallen trees, 
but in other places there were quaint and pic- 
turesque stone bridges and the scouts had the pleas- 
ant feeling and the thrill of exploring a forgotten 
land whose inhabitants had long since disappeared. 

“Oh, look there!” exclaimed Frank, as soon after 
noon they rounded a bend in the trail and topped 
a low rise. “There’s a ruin ahead.” 

“Perhaps it’s a fort,” suggested Tom. “Let’s 
hurry and see.” 

“Maybe there’s treasure in it,” cried romantic 
Jack. “It’ll be lots of fun to rummage through the 
ruins anyway.” 

The boys were now close to the tumble-down 
wall which had caught Frank’s eye and they looked 
upon the scene with interest. 

It was a massive structure of masonry, once well 
built, and as strong as though intended to withstand 
a siege, and it surrounded what had formerly been 
a spacious, paved courtyard in the center of which 
stood a good-sized, low building. But the wall had 


48 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


suffered through the lapse of time; many of the 
great stones had fallen from the top; creepers and 
climbing ferns draped it with greenery and the 
keystone to the arched gateway had dropped out 
and the entrance was choked with broken stone, 
mortar and rank weeds. 

The courtyard was a miniature jungle of brush, 
and several large trees, growing up through the lit- 
ter of masonry, had forced the flagging aside and 
testified to the length of time which had passed since 
the spot had been inhabited. 

Picking their way gingerly among the blocks of 
stone, and cutting away the clinging vines and 
thorny scrub, the boys entered the courtyard. 
Somehow the silent, deserted aspect of the place 
awed and silenced them and hardly a word was 
spoken until they stood within the yard and before 
the ruined building in its center. 

“Whew! But this is awful spooky,” whispered 
Fred. “I wonder who lived here.” 

“Old ruins are always spooky,” declared Tom. 
“But who’s afraid of spooks. If we’re going to 
explore such places and hunt for treasure we can’t 
be ninnies. I vote we go inside and look about.” 

So, laughing away their unreasonable nervous- 
ness, the boys approached the ruined doorway of 
the low building and peered into its dim interior. 

“It’s all tumbled down and full of rubbish,” an- 
nounced Fred. “We’ll have to go carefully, boys. 


LOST 


49 


There might be trap-doors or holes, or something 
in there.” 

Stepping carefully, and keeping a sharp lookout 
for holes and pitfalls, the boys entered the building 
and stared about the big room in which they found 
themselves. It was very still and as dark and 
mouldy as a tomb, and when a lizard darted along 
the wall and dislodged some tiny bits of mortar, the 
boys jumped and felt their spines tingle at the un- 
wonted sound. But the next instant their sudden 
fright was forgotten as Rob uttered a shout. 

“Hurrah!” he exclaimed. “There’s a treasure 
chest,” and, regardless of hidden dangers, he dashed 
across the room to where a square box-like object 
could be seen resting against the wall. 

The others hurried with him and filled with ex- 
citement, for there could be no doubt that the object 
was a huge chest, metal-bound and massive. 

With fast beating heart Rob seized the cover of 
the chest and tugged at it. For a moment it resisted 
his efforts and then, with a creaking of rusty metal, 
it moved slightly, complainingly, as if resentful of 
being disturbed in this rude fashion. Impatient to 
see what was within, the other boys grasped the 
lid and all pulled together. Suddenly, there was 
a crackling sound, and, without warning, the whole 
chest collapsed in a cloud of choking dust and a 
jangle of metal as the bands and hinges fell clatter- 
ing among the rotten wood. 


50 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“My, but that was punky!” exclaimed Rob, as 
their first surprise over, the boys burst out laughing. 
“Well,” he added, “there may be treasure in it just 
the same,” and with his machete, he began searching 
amid the debris of the chest. 

But the closest search failed to reveal anything 
save a mass of mouldy, ill-smelling material which 
the chest had contained and which proved a puzzle 
to the boys. 

“Nothing there,” announced Tom at last. “We 
might have known they wouldn’t leave treasure 
lying around that way. Most likely ’twas a clothes 
chest or a cupboard. If the treasure’s here it will 
be in a vault, or in a secret chamber in the walls.” 

“I say!” interrupted Fred. “Let’s make our camp 
over here. Then we’ll have plenty of time to hunt 
all over the ruins. It will be lots more fun than 
where we are. We haven’t time to search the place 
today and its a long tramp from here to the bridge.” 

“That’s a fine idea,” chorused the others. “Let’s 
go on back and tell Cap’n Jack and move over here 
tomorrow.” 

All through the afternoon, as the boys tramped 
back to their camp, they talked of the ruins and laid 
plans for the good times they would have exploring 
them. 

“Hello !” cried the Captain as the boys ap- 
proached. “Began to think ye lads had missed yer 
course an’ got outer the channel. Reckoned I’d 


LOST 


51 


have to get under way on a wreckin’ cruise to fetch 
ye. Where ye been an’ what ye been up to all 
day?” 

Rapidly the boys told the Captain of their tramp 
and the discovery of the ruins and of their decision 
to camp there. 

“Well, I dunno,” muttered the Captain reflectively 
when they had finished. “OF ruins ain’t too 
healthy an’ I ain’t pertic’lar partial to campin’ out 
where other folks has lived an’ died, o’ Lord-knows- 
what, in years gone. But I reckon as we might 
find a likely spot dost to, so’s you lads could explore 
the ruins to yer hearts’ content, an’ there’s nothin’ 
like shiftin’ o’ moorin’s an’ gettin’ a change o’ scene. 
We’ll h’ist anchor in the mornin’ and get under way 
for a new berth yonder. But get busy an’ eat yer 
grub now, it’s pretty nigh four bells an’ you’d 
oughta be as hungry as sharks.’* 

The boys fell to with a will, and as they ate, they 
told the Captain about the chest, at which he 
laughed heartily. 

“I dunno whether ye lads are just a skylarkin’ an’ 
pretendin’ you’re expectin’ to run afoul o’ treasure, 
or whether you’ve got a idee ye really might heave 
in sight o’ loot,” he said. “Sometimes I think it’s 
one an’ sometimes ’tother; but s’long’s ye get any 
fun outen it, it don’t make a mite o’ diff’rence, I 
reckon.” 

The boys roared with laughter. “Oh, you know 


52 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


we don’t expect really to find anything,” exclaimed 
Fred. “It’s just an excuse for poking about in the 
ruins. But don’t you think, Cap’n Jack, that we 
might find something — an old sword or blunderbuss, 
or some armor or something of that sort to take 
home as souvenirs?” 

“Course ye might, course ye might,” replied the 
old sailor. “Like as not ye’ll run acrost suthin’ over 
yonder in the ruins ye found today. I reckon ’twas 
an inn or a stoppin’ place fer the gold trains, mos’ 
likely, an’ ’t wouldn’t be a mite strange if them ol’ 
Dons knowed ye was cornin’ an’ jest left their 
weepons an’ tin clothes lyin’ handy fer ye to pick 
up.” The old man chuckled at his own humor. 

The boys were well tired out with their long walk 
and soon climbed into their hammocks and fell 
asleep to dream of ruins, pirates and adventures. 

Camp was broken early the next morning, and be- 
fore dark that night, the tarpaulin’ had been spread 
in a new spot a few rods beyond the ruined build- 
ings and where the ancient road forked. 

The next day the Captain stumped over to the 
ruins with the boys, and after a brief inspection, 
declared it was once a fortified “fonda” or wayside 
inn. He pointed out the narrow slots in the wall 
through which the defenders could shoot; he rum- 
maged about until he found some rusty, corroded 
old cannons which he said were “culverins,” and he 
took as much interest in exploring the old inn as 


LOST 


53 


the boys themselves. He was greatly interested in 
the remains of the old chest and pawed over the 
mass of soggy, rotten stuff it had contained as 
though searching for something. 

Presently he rose, walked over to the doorway, 
and standing in the light, examined something in 
his hand. 

“What have you found, Captain ?” cried Fred. 

“Uum,” remarked the sailor. “Look here, lads.” 
Then, as the boys crowded about, he exhibited a 
pair of corroded silver buckles and half a dozen 
round metal buttons. 

“There's some sooveentvs for ye,” he exclaimed. 
“Some ol’ Don stowed his clothes in the chest 
yonder an' forgot all about ’em, or p’raps he went 
out an’ some chap stuck a knife in his ribs, or he 
got in some sort o’ a mixup an’ never came back 
to claim ’em. I reckon that ol’ chest must a been 
his trunk, an’ he a stoppin’ here. ’Tany rate his 
Sunday-go-to-Meetin’-best’s all rotted away now an’ 
jest the buttons an’ buckles left. Ye won’t go home 
empty handed, lads. Them buckle’s silver an’ the 
buttons is gold. Course they ain’t wuth much, jest 
thin shells like, but they’ll make mighty interestin’ 
scarf-pins an’ there’s jest one a piece for ye.” 

The boys were highly elated at the curious little 
souvenirs, although rather chagrined to think they 
had overlooked them on the previous day. Vowing 
they would search every nook and corner of the old 


54 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


inn, and with interest increased a hundred fold by 
the Captain’s find, they scattered about the building, 
tapping walls and floors, peeking into cracks and 
holes and raking every pile of dust or fallen plaster 
with minute care. 

For some time nothing was discovered and then 
a shout from Rob brought all the boys to him on 
the run. 

Rob was standing on a bit of fallen masonry 
and peering into a dark cavity in the wall. 

“Here’s a closet,” he cried, as the boys hurried 
to him. “Strike a match, someone, so we can see 
inside. It’s dark as a pocket and I don’t fancy put- 
ting my hand in; there might be scorpions, or 
snakes, or something.” 

One of the boys lit a match, and by its light, Rob 
could see a small earthen pot or jar and some dark 
object lying amid the dust that had accumulated 
through the centuries. Ere the match flickered out, 
he had secured these, and, with his companions 
pressing close about, he examined them carefully. 
Then, as the boys realized what he had found, a 
glad shout made the old room echo, for in his 
hand, Rob held a short, heavy dagger or knife — 
encrusted with rust to be sure, but with its carved 
horn hilt and elaborately wrought cross-guard of 
silver still in good condition. Filled with excite- 
ment, the boys passed it from hand to hand, exam- 


LOST 


55 


ining the ancient weapon with the most intense 
interest. 

“You’re the lucky one,” exclaimed Tom. “Golly, 
but isn’t that a find, though !” 

“Hello, there’s something in this jar,” cried Rob, 
whose attention had been so occupied with the 
dagger that he had neglected to examine his other 
find. 

“Dump it out and see what ’tis,” suggested Fred, 
and, as the others squatted in a circle about him, 
Rob shook the contents of the jar onto the floor. 
A quantity of dust, a few shreds of some dry 
hard material, that proved to be leather, and a 
small metal clasp dropped out, and as they struck 
the stones of the floor, there was a little tinkle as of 
metal. Sifting the pile of dust through his fingers, 
Rob uttered an exclamation and held up a small 
silver coin. 

“Well, well, ye’ve struck treasure at last,” ex- 
claimed the Captain, who now arrived on the scene, 
attracted by the boys’ shouts. “Real money, eh.” 

“Yes, and see this fine dagger Rob found,” cried 
Jack. “Isn’t it bully Cap’n?” 

The old man examined the dagger carefully, » 
“Sure enough, sure enough,” he muttered. “This 
ere bit o’ horn an’ rust’s a dagger all right, an’ 
Spanish by the looks of it. Course I can’t say how 
old ’tis ; this ol’ inn may ’a’ been used long arter the 
days o’ the Gold Road. But there ain’t no ’arthly 


56 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


reason why it shouldn’t ’a’ been here since ol’ Mor- 
gan and Drake made the Dons dance hereabouts. 
Let’s see the bit o’ money lad, p’raps that’ll give us 
a hint o’ it’s age.” 

“It’s a Real,” he announced, “an’ dated sixteen 
hundred an’ suthin’, yes, I reckon ye can be pretty 
certain this ere stuff’s been a lyin’ here a pretty 
smart spell o’ time. ’Course this bit of silver may 
’a’ been some chap’s pocket-piece, or it might ’a’ been 
a hundred years old or more when ’twas left here. 
That stuff in the jar’s all that’s left of a purse, I 
reckon, an’ ye’re mighty lucky to ’a’ found the stuff. 
Ye oughter be satisfied now, lad.” 

“If the rest of us don’t find anything I’ll give 
these to the Scouts,” declared Rob. “There’s no 
reason why I should have more than any one else.” 

“That’s fine of you,” cried the others. “Let’s 
have a Scouts’ museum — then we can put all the 
things that any of us find in there and every one 
can see them,” suggested Tom. 

This met with the unanimous approval of every 
one, and as the boys, fired with enthusiasm at Rob’s 
discovery, hunted high and low for more relics, they 
made plans for their museum and what it should 
contain. 

But the most careful search failed to reveal any 
further relics. 

“I reckon if we could get the bearin’s o’ where 
the ol’ chaps throwed their rubbish we might run 


LOST 


57 


afoul o’ somethin’,” remarked the Captain as the 
boys seated themselves in the shade to eat their 
lunch. 

“Let’s hunt for it then,” said Tom. “Of course, 
there must have been a rubbish pile somewhere 
about.” 

Everything was so overgrown with brush and 
jungle that it was no easy matter to find the rubbish 
pile of the old inn and it was not until late in the 
afternoon that Fred, while cutting away some 
weeds, knocked a bit of broken earthenware from 
a low mound in a corner of the courtyard. It was 
but a few moments work to scrape away enough of 
the vegetation and fallen leaves to reveal numerous 
fragments of pottery, bits of half-burned sticks, 
patches of rust that had once been metal and an 
abundance of pasty ashes. 

“Reckon this is the spot,” declared the Captain, 
“but ’taint a mite o’ use tryin’ to s’arch tonight. 
We’ll get back to camp an’ tackle this in the 
mornin’.” 

As soon as breakfast was over the boys seized 
spade and machetes and hurried to the rubbish pile 
in the inn yard and fell manfully at work. 

It was some time before anything was discov- 
ered ; but at last, one of the boys dug up an ancient 
clay pipe and although the stem was broken it was 
carefully saved, for it bore a highly ornate represen- 
tation of a piratical-looking seaman on the bowl, and 


58 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


the Captain vowed it was no doubt used by some 
old-time buccaneer. Soon afterwards, some tarn- 
ished brass buttons were discovered and each boy 
became feverish with excitement and thrilled with 
the hope of turning up some relic of the past at any 
moment. As Fred put it, '‘It was like digging for 
gold,” for no one knew when a find might be struck. 

The boys labored as though their lives depended 
upon it, and their efforts were not without reward, 
for by the time they ceased work, not an inch of 
the pile had been left unturned and quite a collection 
of relics had been accumulated. Half a dozen pipes, 
more or less broken; a number of buttons of brass, 
silver and other metals; the brass handles or hilts 
of two swords; a score and more of gun flints; 
several pewter mugs and pewter plates, badly dented 
and battered; numerous pieces of broken crockery; 
a brass pot, perfect, save for a crack; four hawks’ 
bells; several dozen glass beads; two battered can- 
dlesticks ; a small bronze lamp ; a gold earring ; two 
copper, and three silver coins, and a pewter spoon 
comprised the lot of articles recovered from the 
long forgotten sweepings of the inn. 

“Petty nigh enough to start a junk shop,” was 
the Captain’s comment as the boys assorted their 
treasures. 

“I reckon,” he continued, “that ol’ pile must 
a-held the sweepin’s o’ the inn for quite some spell 
o’ time. I tell ye, lads, if them ol’ odds an’ ends 


LOST 


59 


could speak they’d tell ye some yarn. Why, lookee 
here!” he exclaimed, reaching forward and picking 
up one of the battered tankards, “Can’t ye just 
imagine some swashbucklin’ ol’ buccaneer a slam- 
min’ o’ this mug down on the table an’ a yellin’ fer 
more grog. Then, when it’s chock-a-block with 
liquor, he bawls out a toast to Harry Morgan an’ 
some poppinjay o’ a Don whips out a sword. Then 
there’s a right smart mixup — knives flashin’, swords 
slashin’, tables a-tippin’ over an’ p’raps a pistol shot 
or two. Bimeby, when the scrap’s over an’ the 
greasy ol’ innkeep crawls out his hole, he claps his 
eyes on as purty a wrack as ye could wish. Candle- 
sticks knocked about and trod under foot, mugs an’ 
dishes stove in, jugs an’ pipes strewin’ the floor 
under the capsized tables an’, like as not, a couple 
o’ chaps a lyin’ in the wrackage with their skulls 
cracked or their throats slit. An’ so Mr. Landlord 
pipes all hands for to swab down decks an’, with 
the busted pipes an’ dishes an’ spilt ale an’ rum an’ 
grub, there’s nat’ rally buttons what’s been ripped 
offen clothes durin’ the fightin’, a few coins spilt 
from the tables where they been a gamblin’, an’ all 
gets tossed out here in the rubbish heap together.” 

“I shouldn’t wonder if that’s just the way all 
these things did come here,” said Fred, as the Cap- 
tain finished speaking. 

“When you come to think of it that way it makes 


60 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


the things a thousand times more interesting, 1 ” de- 
clared Tom. 

“I never dreamed there could be such excitement 
in digging up someone’s ash pile,” laughed Jack. 

“An’ I never kenned a lad could get so fair fam- 
ished wi’ sich work,” added Rob, dropping into his 
Scotch manner unconsciously. “Mon!” he con- 
tinued, “but are ye clean forgettin’ ’tis time for a 
bite o’ food?” 

Every one laughed at Rob’s speech, but it re- 
minded them that they too were hungry, and care- 
fully gathering up their treasures, they made their 
way to camp and soon sat down to a hearty meal. 

Tired out with the unaccustomed labor of the 
day, the boys turned in shortly after they had fin- 
ished eating and soon all were sleeping soundly in 
their hammocks. 

It was long past midnight when Fred awoke with 
a strange sensation of impending danger, a feeling 
that someone or something was moving about in the 
darkness close at hand. For a moment he thought 
he had been dreaming, for only the deep breathing 
of his comrades and the rumbling snores of Cap’n 
Jack broke the silence of the tropic night. 

Then, his ears caught another sound; the sound 
of stealthy footsteps, and peering into the black- 
ness, he was sure he could distinguish a darker 
shadow moving cautiously away from the camp. 
Thinking one of his companions had arisen and was 


LOST 


61 


moving about, and inwardly smiling at his foolish 
fright, he spoke. At the sound of his voice the 
vague figure vanished and Fred’s ears caught the 
sound of running footsteps. 

“What’s up?” exclaimed the Captain, aroused by 
Fred’s voice, and, as the other boys also awoke, a 
chorus of similar questions issued from the various 
hammocks. 

“Some one was sneaking about,” replied Fred. “I 
thought ’twas one of you fellows and called out.” 

“Reckon ye was havin’ a nightmare,” chuckled 
the Captain. 

“No, I wasn’t,” declared Fred. “I heard foot- 
steps and saw some one running away from camp.” 

“Well, we’ll have a look and see,” remarked the 
Captain, and slipping from his hammock, he lighted 
a lantern and commenced searching about the 
ground in the direction Fred indicated. 

“Nothin’ here,” announced the old sailor as he 
reached the roadside and stood peering up and down 
the old highway, then, with a laugh, he added, 
“Must ’a been a ghost o’ some old Don ; like as not 
he was lookin’ fer that ol’ suit o’ clothes or the 
dagger ye picked up.” 

But as the Captain turned to retrace his steps, he 
uttered an exclamation of surprise, for in the soft 
surface of the earth were the impressions of naked 
human feet. 

“What have you found now?” cried Fred. 


62 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“Nothin’,” replied the Captain, “ ’ceptin’ some 
footprints out in the road. Expect some chap was 
just a passin’ by an’ hove-to to have a squint an’ see 
who we be. Nothin’ to be skeered or worried over. 
Don’t forget we’re close to a public road an’ ’taint 
a mite remarkable fer folks to be a walkin’ over it.” 

But long after the boys had again fallen asleep, 
Captain Jack lay awake, listening with straining ears 
for any unusual sound and puzzling his brain over 
the meaning of the footsteps, for, in his hasty 
glance, he had noted the visitor had come up the 
road to the camp and had retreated in the same 
direction, and the old sailor well knew the tell-tale 
footprints had not been made by any chance 
passer-by, but by someone who had approached the 
camp for the sole purpose of spying upon it. 

There was no use in alarming the boys by men- 
tioning this, but the Captain determined to be ready, 
in case the midnight prowler returned, and not until 
daybreak did he relax his vigil and close his eyes. 

In the morning the boys had quite forgotten all 
about the events of the night. Even the Captain 
decided that he had been unnecessarily nervous and 
suspicious and dismissed the matter from his mind, 
for things which seem fraught with danger and 
mystery in the darkness appear trivial and of no 
moment by the light of day. 

“Let’s take a hike and explore the old road,” sug- 
gested Tom, as the boys ate breakfast. “We’ve 


LOST 


63 


been all over the old inn and we may find something 
else up the road.” 

‘Tine,” agreed the others. 

“There are two roads,” remarked Ned. “Let’s 
make up two parties and then we can explore both 
of them at once.” 

This suggestion met with everyone’s approval, 
and accordingly, lots were drawn to see which boys 
should form each party. Then lots were again 
drawn to determine which party should take the 
right and which the left road and finally, all being ar- 
ranged, preparations were made for the start of the 
exploring expedition, as Fred called it. 

Bidding a cheery good-by to the Captain, who 
was to remain in camp, the boys hurried off. Fred 
and Rob were in the party that took the left-hand 
road and were soon lost to sight of the others. It 
was soon evident that the way they were following 
had been long unused, for vines and brush had 
grown up between the walls of trees; fallen limbs 
and trunks barred it in many places and, where it 
crossed creeks and streams, the bridges had fallen 
down and were impassible. 

“It doesn’t look as if any one had been over this 
since old Morgan’s time,” remarked Fred, as the 
boys paused to rest upon the bank of a stream. 

“All the more chance of finding something inter- 
esting,” said Rob. 

“Perhaps this is the real Gold Road,” suggested 


64 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


Tom. “You know Cap’n Jack said it had been 
lost” 

‘Til bet, if we find any ruin up here, it’ll be ex- 
citing,” declared Ned. “We might even find 
treasure if no one’s been here for such a long time.” 

“Well, let’s hurry up or we won’t get anywhere,” 
said Fred, and hurrying across the little creek, the 
boys again resumed their tramp. 

An hour later, Fred, who was in the lead, stopped 
and turned to his companions. “What’ll we do 
now?” he asked, “here’s another fork in that road.” 

“I vote the first thing we do is to have grub,” 
laughed Rob. “We can think about the next step 
while we’re eating.” 

Everyone was hungry, and acting on Rob’s sug- 
gestion, they were soon squatting about and eating 
the lunch which the Captain had prepared. 

“We’ll have to divide our party and two of us 
take each road,” declared Fred. “Tom and Ned 
can have first choice and Rob and I’ll take the other 
fork.” 

“We’ll take the right-hand one, then,” decided 
Tom. “I always believe in going right.” 

“The left for us then,” laughed Fred. “I’ll bet 
we have the best adventures all the same.” 

“Call out if you find anything,” said Rob, as the 
two parties separated. “Righto,” called Tom and, 
a moment later, Rob and Fred were by themselves. 

The road soon dwindled to a mere trail and the 


LOST 


65 


two boys found great difficulty in following it, and 
several times they were obliged to make wide de- 
tours into the forest in order to avoid fallen trees. 

“I don’t believe this ever was a road,” declared 
Rob, after they had been walking for an hour or 
more. “It looks more like a wood path or a game 
trail to me.” 

“Perhaps it is,” admitted Fred. “I expect Tom 
and Ned are on the real road.” 

“No, it’s not,” interrupted Rob. “Look here.” 
As he spoke, he stopped and pointed to the ground 
where rough, moss-grown paving stones were visible 
among the weeds. 

“That’s right, it must have been a road once,” 
said Fred. “My! but it must be awfully old.” 

A few moments later, the boys came to a ruined 
bridge and found the way barred by a deep, swift- 
flowing stream. 

“I guess we’ll have to swim,” said Fred dubiously, 
as they stood hesitating on the brink. 

“Hello, there's a fallen tree across it,” exclaimed 
Rob, pointing up the stream. “We can go up 
through the bush and cross over on that all right.” 

This seemed a simple matter, and hewing away 
hanging vines and branches, the boys plunged into 
the forest and soon reached the natural bridge. 
Crossing this, they gained the opposite bank and, 
much to their surprise, found a well-marked path 
leading into the forest. 


66 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“Some one else has been here/’ remarked Rob. 
“I wonder who it was.” 

“Most likely some Indian hunters or wood cut- 
ters,” said Fred. “There are lots of such paths in 
the bush.” 

“Well, it makes walking easier than cutting a 
way,” laughed Rob, and added, “It goes towards 
the road at any rate.” 

He had hardly spoken when there was a rush and 
whirr and a large bird flushed from the thicket be- 
side him. 

“Oh, look at all the little chickens,” cried Rob, 
and leaped forward intent upon capturing the little 
fluffy creatures that scurried across the path and 
into the bush. 

“They’re young curassows,” cried Fred. “Let’s 
catch some and take them back. They make fine 
pets.” 

But it was easier said than done, for the young 
curassows were very lively little creatures and their 
colors were so exactly like the dead leaves that they 
were all but invisible when they remained mo- 
tionless. 

Unmindful of the thick tangle of brush, the two 
boys scrambled after the elusive birds until, at last, 
they gave up the chase in despair. Not until then 
did they realize that in their eagerness to catch the 
birds they had taken no note of their surroundings 
and were in the midst of the forest. 


LOST 


67 


“Where’s the path?” asked Rob as the two boys 
looked about. 

“I think it’s back there/” replied Fred, after a 
moment’s hesitation. 

“All right, but I thought ’twas in just the op- 
posite direction,” declared Rob. “Say,” he added. 
“You don’t suppose we’re lost do you?” 

“Of course not,” scoffed Fred. “Why, we 
haven’t gone fifty feet from the path. Look, there’s 
the opening in the trees ahead, now.” 

But when they reached the open space they found 
it was an old brush-grown clearing with no sign of 
the path they had been following. 

“Perhaps I was wrong after all,” admitted Fred. 
“Let’s try the direction you thought it was.” 

But ten minutes’ tramping convinced the boys 
that the path was not in this direction either, for 
the bush became more and more dense as they 
proceeded. 

“We can’t get lost at any rate,” declared Fred, 
confidently. “We’d be healthy scouts if we 
couldn’t find our way out of here.” 

Rob shook his head dubiously. “I ha’ me doubts, 
man,” he said. 

“Nonsense,” ejaculated Fred. “We’ll look about 
and use our brains and we’ll soon be all right. 
What’s the use of learning woodcraft if we don’t 
make use of it now?” 

“You see,” he continued, after a moment’s survey 


68 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


of their surroundings, “we were going west along 
that road because I remember the sun was behind 
us and it wasn't noon. Then we turned to the left 
or south, when we went up the creek, and then we 
turned northwest along the path. When the curas- 
sow flew up we went into the woods on the left, 
or southwest, so the path must be northeast of 
where we are.” 

“Very well, very well,” commented Rob. “But 
how are we to ken which is northeast? Tell me 
that, man.” 

“Why, with our compasses of course,” replied 
Fred, and taking out his compass he steadied it 
until the needle remained stationary. “It’s right 
over there,” he announced at last. 

Rob looked fixedly in the direction his companion 
indicated. “Aye,” he remarked presently. “No 
doubt 'tis northeast yonder, Fred, but I mind 'twas 
in that direction we found yon clearing.” 

For a moment Fred stood motionless and silent, 
glancing first at his compass and then looking at 
the woods and trees about. 

“I guess you're right,” he said in a disappointed 
tone. “We must have got all turned about, chasing 
those curassows; confound the things any way.” 

“Sure, man, we're clean lost, there's no use deny- 
ing it,” chuckled Rob as if enjoying their predica- 
ment.” “A fine pair o' loonies we be,” he added. 


LOST 


69 


“Maybe the ither lads’ll hear us, an’ we shout a 
bit.” 

But the lustiest shouting brought no response. 

“The Major told us people always walk in a 
circle when they’re lost,” remarked Fred, when the 
two boys became convinced that their cries could 
not be heard by their friends. Then, he continued, 
“I remember he told us the safest thing to do was 
to follow a straight line by compass. There’s no 
use in standing here doing nothing; we might just 
as well be walking.” 

“Aye, I mind what the Major said,” assented 
Rob. “But I’m not over particular about tramping 
through this bush to the Pacific Ocean.” 

“Don’t be foolish,” said Fred. “We know that 
old road must be north of here somewhere. All 
we’ve to do is to walk north and we’re sure to find 
it. Come along, Rob; it’s getting late and I don’t 
fancy staying out in the bush all night.” 

There appeared to be no better plan, and passing 
across the old clearing, they continued in as nearly 
a straight line towards the north as they could 
follow. 

“Hurrah!” cried Fred half an hour later. 
“Here’s the old path.” 

“Well I’m glad of that,” declared Rob, as the 
two boys stepped from the forest into a narrow but 
plain trail. “But where’s the road?” he added. 

“It must be close by,” replied Fred. “It was 


70 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


just a short distance from the path when we crossed 
the creek back there.” 

“Perhaps the path doesn’t lead to the road,” ven- 
tured Rob. 

“I never thought of that,” admitted the other. 
“Let’s walk across through t?he bush and strike the 
road.” 



Mysterious Adventures 


F OR fully half an hour the two hacked and 
pushed their way through the dense jungle 
towards the north, but no sign of the road 
rewarded them. At last they halted and stood look- 
ing at one another in silence, each realizing that they 
were actually lost. 

Fred was the first to speak. “We’ll have to get 
back to that path and then back to the creek,” he 
said. “Then we can follow down stream to the 
bridge and the road. It’s too late to go any farther 
on the road any way.” 

Turning, the boys retraced their steps — an easy 
matter with the freshly cut branches and vines to 
guide them — and in a short time reached the path. 

“I don’t believe this is the path at all,” declared 
Rob, when an hour’s walking showed no sign of 
the stream. 

“Well, it goes somewhere and there’s no use of 
standing still,” argued his companion. “Whoever 
made the path must have come from somewhere 


7i 


72 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


and he went somewhere. We’re bound to find a 
road or a camp or something.” 

A moment later, the boys came to a sudden halt 
and stood listening, for both had distinctly heard 
the sound of an ax on wood. 

Then, as the unmistakable noise came to them 
again, they hurried forward, for they knew human 
beings were close at hand. Louder and louder the 
sound rang through the silent forest and ten min- 
utes’ walking brought them to a small clearing. In 
the center stood a small thatched house; from a 
shed beside it a column of smoke was drifting lazily 
upwards, and beside a log, a man was industriously 
chopping firewood. 

“Hurrah ! here’s some one can show us the way,” 
cried Fred, and both boys dashed forward towards 
the house. 

At the sound of their voices and hurrying foot- 
steps the man turned, gave them one hurried glance, 
and dropping his ax, fled into the house. 

“That’s a funny way to greet visitors,” exclaimed 
Fred as, surprised at the man’s actions, the two 
came to a standstill. 

“He seems afraid of us,” said Rob. “Let’s call 
out to him.” 

Suiting his actions to his words Rob called out 
that they were lost and wanted help to find their 
way back to camp. 

“Perhaps he doesn’t understand English,” sug- 



Gave Them One Hurried Glance, and Dropping His Ax, 
Fled Into the House 


73 



•r 

I TJ * [I 
































* 






















MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURES 


75 


guested Fred, “I expect he's a native, he didn't look 
like one of those West Indian colored men. I'll try 
him in Spanish." 

But Fred’s call brought no response for some 
moments and the boys, nonplussed, were undecided 
whether to approach the building or to call again 
when, from within the hut, came a muffled, high- 
pitched voice. 

“Lost, lost !" it cackled. “Lost for aye. But 'tis 
for me to find, aye 'tis mine. Lives be lost, treasure 
lost, maps lost an' now ye're lost," the voice trailed 
off in a meaningless, incomprehensible muttering. 

“What is he talking about?" exclaimed Fred. 
“What does he mean with his 'treasure' and 'maps' 
and 'lives lost ?' " 

“ 'Tis my conveection he's a wee bit daffy," 
whispered Rob. “There's no sense to his speakin'." 

As he spoke, the door of the hut was cautiously 
opened and the man stepped forth and stood peering 
intently at the two boys. And a strange figure he 
was. Thin, almost to emaciation, tall and stooping, 
but tremendously broad shouldered, and clad in 
mere rags, the man appeared more like some savage 
than a civilized being. His face, of a dull leather 
color, was seamed with a thousand creases and 
wrinkles, his unkempt, gray hair fell over his 
shoulders, a long, white, matted beard covered his 
body to the waist, and, from under bushy gray 
brows, his eyes gleamed like coals. 


76 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


For a space he stood motionless, regarding the 
boys intently and with a frown upon his face. Then, 
his expression suddenly changed, the fierce light 
died from his eyes, he smiled, and approaching the 
two half-frightened boys, he held out his hand. 

“Ye be honest-looking lads,” he exclaimed. “Ye 
be lost, eh? Gain ye’ll bide wi’ me the night I’ll 
set ye on the road, come daybreak.” 

“Can’t you show us the way now?” asked Fred. 
“The other boys and the Captain will think we’re 
lost, they’ll be terribly worried if we stay away all 
night.” 

“Captain, captain,” muttered the old man. “A 
curse on the captain; his bones be danglin’ in the 
air, years agone. Aye, ’twas the captain lost it an* 
the devil stole the map ; but I’ll have it yet — tho’ the 
blood drips, drips, drips — ” his words died away in 
an incoherent rumble. 

“He’s clean daffy, man,” whispered Rob. 

Fred nodded, it was evident the old hermit was 
not sane, but he apparently had lucid moments and 
the boys stood silent, waiting for the old man to 
speak. Then, so unexpectedly that the boys uttered 
startled exclamations, he burst into a loud, cackling 
laugh. 

“Come in lads, come in,” he cried. “ ’Tis past 
three bells and ye be hungry. ’Tis little I can offer 
ye, but such as ’tis, ye be right welcome.” 

Turning, he led the way to the hut and the boys 


MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURES 


77 


followed, for despite their nervousness at the 
strange actions and mysterious words of the hermit, 
they were too desperately hungry and tired to give 
much thought to any possible danger and realized 
they must eat and rest before undertaking to tramp 
the many weary miles to camp. 

The hut proved far larger than the boys had 
thought and the interior was partitioned off into 
two rooms. It was bare of furnishings, with the 
exception of a rickety bed of bushrope, a couple of 
old patched hammocks and some rude benches hewn 
from logs; but it was clean and tidy. On the walls 
hung numerous skins ; bundles of herbs, dried leaves 
and flowers were suspended here and there; rusty 
and broken shovels, machetes and other tools were 
standing against the walls, and in the corners were 
old baskets, boxes and leaf-covered bundles, many 
of them thick with dust and cobwebs. 

“Set ye down, set ye down,” exclaimed the old 
man with a grandiloquent sweep of his gaunt arms. 
Then, as the boys seated themselves on the low 
stools, the queer old fellow hurried out of doors. 

“Isn’t he the funny chap,” exclaimed Fred when 
he and Rob were alone. 

“What do you suppose he means with all his 
jabbering about treasure and the devil and blood 
dripping, and the captain’s bones?” asked Rob. 

“Search me,” laughed Fred. “Perhaps he’s a 


78 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


sailor and went crazy and thinks the captain had 
something to do with the devil. ,, 

“Maybe he murdered the captain,” suggested Rob. 

“And perhaps he’ll murder us,” exclaimed Fred, 
nervously. “Gosh! I wonder if we’d better stay 
here with him.” 

“Hoot mon! he could have killed us fair easy 
long ago, and he minded,” replied Rob. “And be- 
sides,” he added, “if we run away we’ll be no better 
off. Twixt being lost in yon bush with no food 
an’ stoppin’ wi’ a looney, I’ll choose the looney.” 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” admitted Fred, 
dubiously. “Here he comes now,” he added, as 
shuffling footsteps were heard. 

The old man now appeared, carrying two large 
calabashes, and these he placed on the floor before 
the boys. Then, rummaging in a box, he produced 
some battered tin spoons and cups and handed them 
to his visitors. 

“ ’Tis poor fare I be able to set before ye, sirs,” 
he remarked in apologetic tones as the hungry boys 
helped themselves liberally from the steaming 
calabashes; but their mouths were already too full 
to reply. 

The stew was excellent, and as they ate, the boys 
chatted with their host who talked sensibly and 
appeared to have entirely recovered his reason. 

He asked them how they had become lost, where 
they were camping and who they were. 


MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURES 


79 


Fred related their adventures of the afternoon, 
but the moment he mentioned the Gold Road and 
the object of their trip the old man became greatly 
excited. 

“The Gold Road,” he cried, “the road o’ blood an’ 
treasure. Aye, blood ever a-dripping o’er pirate gold. 
Ha’ ye stopped i’ the bush ye’d a seed sights as 
would leave ye stark ravin’ lads. Devils’ candles 
a burnin’ i’ the forest an’ men an’ beasts a passin’ 
over the road. Aye, beasts an’ men o’ no mortal 
blood. Mules o’ the air an’ men o’ mist. Wi’ bells 
tinklin’, they pass, loaded high wi’ plate an’ gold. 
An’ the men o’ mist — Dons a horseback, an’ mule- 
teers, an’ slaves i’ chains, an’ fair women weepin* 
an’ a wailin’ wi’ the clothes torn from their white 
skins an’ bloody stripes o’ lashin’s ’crost their 
shoulders, aye lads, a rare sight, a rare sight; but 
’twas Harry Morgan’s way lads — a rare old sport 
was Harry Morgan.” .The old fellow burst once 
more into his weird cackling laugh, which sent cold 
shivers down the boys’ backs. 

And both glanced apprehensively about, for dark- 
ness had now fallen and mysterious shadows filled 
the little hut. Rising, the old hermit lit a flickering, 
old-fashioned lamp. 

Somewhat relieved by even this faint and uncer- 
tain illumination the boys were anxious to hear 
more of the creepy, weird, ramblings of their host. 


80 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“Did you ever see any of those things?” asked 
Fred. 

“Aye, lad,” was the reply. “Old Ben's no ’fear’d 
o’ sperrits. Many a night I’ve seen ’em. Dons i’ 
armour an’ silk, an’ naked slaves an’ leather clad 
muleteers, an’ e’en the weepin’ women, an’ all that 
thin ye’d see the forest an’ the moonshine through 
’em. An’ e’en the candles burnin’ o’er the corpses o’ 
them as Harry Morgan kilt, an e’en the blood — aye, 
the blood a drippin’, drippin’, drippin’, o’er the gold. 
But Old Ben laughs at ’em all I tell ye.” (Here 
the speaker became wildly excited). “I tell ye ’tis 
mine, mine, mine. Only the devil do I fear an’ I’ll 
kill him yet, an’ laugh in his face. The map’s what 
he wants, but he’ll never win it. 01’ Ben’s no fool 
lads. The captain died — hung to his own yard arm 
— naught but me an’ the devil’s left an’ the map’s 
mine an’ the treasure. Ha, ha, ha !” the old fellow’s 
high rasping laughter rang through the hut. 

“Man, but ’tis uncanny,” muttered Rob. “The 
looney talkin’ o’ ghosts and corpse candles and blood 
and the devil. My, but ’tis pleasant conversation to 
go to bed on.” 

“I’d give a lot to know what he is talking about,” 
whispered Fred. 

But before Rob could speak again the old man 
recovered his senses, and seemingly forgetting his 
disconnected mysterious words of a moment before, 
he spoke to the boys in a quiet courteous tone. 


MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURES 


81 


“Ye be weary, lads,” he added, “an’ ’tis a long 
walk lies afore ye on the morrow. There be ham- 
mocks for two, lads; turn in an' ye be ready — ’tis 
my watch on deck.” 

Acting on his suggestion, the boys crawled into 
their hammocks and bade good-night to their host. 
But his strange behavior and wild words, and their 
own adventures, so filled their minds that sleep was 
impossible, and, through the interstices of the ham- 
mocks, they kept their eyes on old Ben, half fearing 
they knew not what, for they were convinced he 
was a madman and each realized that he might be- 
come a dangerous, murderous, unreasoning being at 
any instant. 

But the old man remained silent and almost mo- 
tionless, his eyes gazing fixedly at the floor, and 
apparently deep in thought. Gradually the boys’ 
fears gave way to drowsiness, their eyes closed, and 
soon they were sound asleep, utterly oblivious to 
what was taking place about them. 

Suddenly Fred awoke with a start — trembling 
and frightened — for in his ears, still echoed the 
blood-curdling sound of a human scream. It was 
inky dark — he could not even distinguish the out- 
lines of Rob’s hammock — and tremblingly, he 
reached forth his hand towards his companion, 
half fearful he would find the hammock empty. But 
as his hand touched Rob’s body and the latter 
moved, Fred’s relief was inexpressible. At his 


82 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


touch, Rob was awake. “What’s the matter?” he 
exclaimed. 

“Hush!” cautioned Fred. “Did you hear it, Rob? 
Some one screamed.” 

“Hoot, mon ! ’twas a nightmare ye had,” muttered 
Rob, sleepily. 

“No, I’m sure I heard a scream,” insisted Fred. 
“I wasn’t dreaming.” 

“Wake up yon looney and ask him,” was Rob’s 
only reply as he yawned and turned over in his 
hammock. 

But Fred hesitated to act on this suggestion, for 
the more he thought about it the more he realized 
that, after all, he might have been dreaming — the 
tales of the old man were enough to give any one a 
nightmare. 

“Yes,” he thought, “it must have been a dream, 
as Rob said, if it had been a real sound old Ben 
would have been aroused and even Rob would have 
heard it.” So, having no wish to appear nervous or 
silly — like a child afraid of the dark — and as no 
other unusual sound broke the silence of the night, he 
closed his eyes and was soon sound asleep once 
more. 

When the boys next awoke it was broad daylight 
and their first glance about the hut showed the old 
man absent and the door open. 

“I guess he’s gone out to get breakfast,” sug- 
gested Fred, and both boys stepped outside and 


MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURES 


83 


approached the little shed which served as a kitchen. 

But there was no sign of the old man in the 
kitchen; no fire had been lit, and no preparations 
made for cooking breakfast. 

“I wonder where he’s gone,” said Fred. 

“Perhaps he’s gone for water, or wood or some- 
thing,” suggested Rob. 

Fred shook his head. “No,” he declared. 
“There’s plenty of water and wood here. I hope 
he hasn’t run off and left us alone. He’s so crazy 
he might do most anything.” 

“Well, I’m hungry and it’s up to us to get break- 
fast anyway,” said the other. “Come on, Fred, 
let’s get things started. The old chap’ll come back 
before we’re done eating, I guess.” 

So saying, Rob commenced building the fire and 
gave no heed to his companion, who, puzzled by the 
old man’s absence and inexplicably uneasy, wand- 
ered about, seeking for some sign of their missing 
host. Presently, he noticed a narrow trail leading 
towards a dense thicket on a low knoll a few rods 
from the kitchen. 

Curious to see where it led, he walked along the 
pathway, stepped into the thicket and the next in- 
stant uttered a shout of mingled terror and surprise, 
and turning, dashed down to the clearing. 

“What’s up?” demanded Rob, who at Fred’s cry 
had left the fire to hurry to his friend. “You look 
as if you’d seen one of the old man’s ghosts,” he 


84 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


exclaimed, as he noticed the horrified expression on 
Fred’s face. 

“He’s in there, dead,” replied Fred in low tones. 

“Dead?” repeated Rob incredulously. 

“Yes,” declared the other. “He’s lying right be- 
side the path. I came on him so suddenly I was 
frightened. It was awful.” 

“Dead men can’t hurt any one. Perhaps he’s only 
hurt. Come along, Fred, and we’ll see,” and as he 
spoke, Rob stepped forward into the thicket. But 
even the matter-of-fact Scotch lad started back with 
an involuntary cry of horror as he came in sight of 
the old man’s body sprawled beside the path. No 
second glance was needed to assure them that no 
spark of life remained, for a terrible blow had split 
the skull from brow to crown; the long beard and 
hair were matted with dark blood, and upon the 
upturned face and glazed eyes, was an expression 
of awful fear and inexpressible hatred. 

“I knew I wasn’t dreaming last night,” declared 
Fred with a shudder, “it was his scream I heard.” 

“I wonder who did it,” whispered Rob. “Let’s 
get out of this, Fred, the murderer might be waiting 
to kill us too.” 

“We can’t leave him like this,” replied Fred, who 
now had recovered from the first shock of his grew- 
some discovery. “We must bury him, and be- 
sides,” he added, “we’re just as safe here as any- 


MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURES 


85 


where else; if any one wanted to kill us they could 
have done so in the night.” 

“That's so,” admitted his companion, “but just 
the same, it makes me mighty nervous to be here 
where murder’s been done. You don’t suppose 
’twas some savage Indians do you?” 

“Of course not,” replied Fred, “ there aren’t any 
wild Indians on the Isthmus — at least hereabouts — 
besides, they use arrows or poisoned darts and this 
was done with a machete or an ax.” 

“Poor old chap,” exclaimed Rob. “I would like to 
know who he was and what he was crazy about and 
who could want to kill him.” 

“And now he can’t show us to the road,” added 
Fred. 

“We’ll have to bring shovels from the house to 
bury him,” said Rob. “Come on, Fred, let’s get it 
over with as soon as we can.” 

Turning, the boys retraced their steps, secured 
shovels and a pick from the hut and returned to 
the knoll. 

“We’d better find an open spot for the grave,” 
said Fred. “We can’t dig among all those trees and 
roots. 

“There’s a sort of opening,” he added, glancing 
about. “It looks as if some of the trees had been 
chopped down,” he pointed to a place a few yards 
from the path where the thicket seemed thin and 
sunlight gleamed through the branches and leaves. 


80 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


Pushing through the miniature jungle, the two 
boys came to a small cleared space and both uttered 
exclamations of surprise, for before them was a 
freshly-dug hole. 

“Somebody’s been digging here already,” ex- 
claimed Fred. “I wonder what for.” 

“They saved us a lot of work at any rate,” re- 
plied Rob. 

The hole proved to be very shallow and small and 
both boys set to work with a will, shoveling away 
the damp earth to form a grave for their dead host. 
Suddenly, Fred’s shovel struck against some solid 
object at the bottom of the pit. 

“Hello!” he cried, “what’s this?” 

“Treasure, perhaps,” laughed Rob, “maybe the 
old man was burying it here when he was killed.” 

“Or perhaps he was digging for it,” suggested 
Fred. 

But while both boys spoke in a jesting manner 
and neither had any real faith in treasure, never- 
theless, they worked excitedly to uncover the object 
under the loose soil. 

A few moments shoveling, and Fred uttered a 
shout. “It’s a chest.” he cried. 

“I’ll bet it is treasure,” declared Rob in excited 
tones, as the boys dropped their shovels, and kneel- 
ing in the hole, scraped the little remaining earth 
from the top of the wooden chest which their labors 
had disclosed. 


MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURES 


87 


It was very old, the thick oak was black and 
rotten and the iron bands and hinges were reduced 
to masses of crumbling rust. The boys were breath- 
ing hard and their hearts thumped with the thrill of 
expectation as the chest was laid bare. Then, grasp- 
ing the box, the two strained to lift it from its bed. 
For a moment the heavy chest seemed immovable 
and then, with a splintering of rotten wood, the lid 
tore from its rusty fastenings and the boys sprawled 
backward. One quick glance within the chest, and 
with startled yells they clambered hastily from the 
hole, for grinning at them from the chest was a 
human skeleton. 

Once out of the hole, however, the boys glanced 
at each other rather sheepishly. 

“Aren’t we the ninnies,” exclaimed Fred. “We’re 
great treasure hunters to be frightened at an old 
skeleton.” 

“Hoot mon! I’m no skeered,” answered Rob. 
“But ’twas a wee bit startlin’ to see yon bones when 
I expected to see treasure.” 

“Maybe the treasure’s underneath the skeleton,” 
suggested Fred. “You know the old pirates some- 
times buried a man with their treasure to guard it.” 

“Well, let’s go down and see, then,” said Rob. 
“Old bones can’t hurt any one.” 

Their first surprise and momentary fright having 
passed, the boys had no hesitation about descending 
to examine the chest and its contents ; but they could 


88 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


not restrain a shudder as they approached the 
crumbling remains of what had once been a fellow 
man. 

Now that they examined the skeleton more 
closely, they noticed that shreds of clothing still 
clung to the bones ; the feet were encased in rotted, 
crumbling, jack-boots; about the middle was the 
remains of a belt, and beside the thigh bones was a 
mass of rust and decayed leather which had once 
been a heavy mariner’s cutlass, as proved by the 
brass hilt which was still intact, although green with 
verdigris. 

“I wonder if he was a pirate,” whispered Fred 
in awestruck tones, “perhaps he was one of Mor- 
gan’s men.” 

“Weel, he’ll do no more piratin’,” muttered Rob, 
“an’ if we want to see if treasure’s beneath his 
bones we’ll have to dump him out or lift him.” 

“We can’t dump him out without getting up the 
chest,” objected Fred, “and I don’t like to touch 
him.” 

“Man, he can’t hurt you,” exclaimed Rob. 
“Who’s afraid of old bones.” 

As he spoke, he moved the bones aside and ex- 
posed the bare wooden bottom of the chest beneath. 

“No treasure in there,” he announced, “nothing 
under the bones but wood ; but I’m not going away 
empty-handed.” So saying, he picked up the cor- 


MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURES 


89 


roded sword-hilt and shook it free from rust and 
dirt. 

Both boys examined the relic with interest. “It’s 
a good souvenir at all events,” declared Fred, as 
Rob dropped the hilt into his pocket. 

'‘Let’s bury old Ben now,” said Rob. “There’s 
no use staying here and the sooner we get away the 
more chance we’ll have of reaching camp. Be- 
sides,” he added, “I’m fair famished and when the 
burying’s done we’ll get breakfast.” 

This seemed good common sense and both boys 
clambered out of the hole and soon reached the 
dead hermit. 

“Ugh! have we got to lift him?” exclaimed Fred, 
with a shudder. 

“Either lift him or drag him,” declared Rob, 
“and of the two, I’d rather carry him ; I don’t fancy 
it myself, Fred my lad; but we’re great scouts if 
we’re afraid of a dead man.” 

“I’m not afraid,” expostulated Fred, “but it 
makes me feel queer and creepy to think of touching 
him.” 

However, there was no other way, and overcom- 
ing their repugnance with an effort, they stooped to 
grasp the shoulders and feet of the corpse. 

But at that instant, Fred’s eyes caught sight of 
something in the soft earth beside the body and an 
ejaculation of wonder and surprise escaped his lips. 

“What — what’s this?” he stammered, pointing to 


90 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


the ground, and as Rob gazed with wondering eyes 
at the spot, the strange words of old Ben came 
vividly to both boys, for plainly visible in the earth 
were the imprints of a cloven foot. 

For a moment the boys remained speechless and 
rooted to the spot, and then, with one accord, they 
turned and dashed madly towards the hut and the 
clearing. 

Once in the sunlit clearing and at the house, their 
terror abated, but both were breathing hard and sat 
panting in the doorway, for they had passed 
through a very trying time in the past few hours, 
their nerves were on edge and the strange uncanny 
footprints were all that was needed to throw them 
into a panic. 

“We are silly fraid-cats just to run away because 
some cow has been walking along the trail,” laughed 
Fred; but his nervous glance about and his trembling 
tones, belied his words. 

“Cow nothing,” snorted Rob. “Mon, ’twas no 
cow made yon tracks — did ye no see, ’twas a cloven 
foot an’ no hoof? I dinna ken what beastie made 
it, but cow or de’il. I’ll be muckle glad to gang awa’ 
fra here ; tis a cursed spot wi’ looneys and murders 
an’ skeletons an’ all.” 

“You’re superstitious,” scoffed Fred. “You 
know there’s no such thing as a devil — at least one 
that can make footprints— and that some wild 
animal’s been wandering around.” 


MYSTERIOUS ADVENTURES 


91 


“Hoot! Gang awa’ Fred, an’ ’twas a wild ani- 
mal, an’ you’re no sooperstitious, as ye call it, why 
did you run? Answer me that, lad.” 

“I was frightened at first,” Fred confessed, “but 
that was just because I was so nervous about the — 
the body, and the skeleton and all.” 

“Well, let’s see you go back there then, if there’s 
nothing to fear,” challenged Rob. 

Fred laughed mirthlessly, “I’m afraid I’ll have to 
admit I am a bit superstitious and afraid,” he said. 

“Aye, and I’m more than a bit hungry,” declared 
Rob. “De’il or no, we’d best be eating and making 
tracks for yon road.” 

Despite their fears, both boys realized this was 
the only wise course, and soon, a fire was blazing in 
the kitchen and from old Ben’s larder the boys made 
a hearty meal. 

Neither could sum up enough courage to go back 
and bury the old man, however, and having gath- 
ered a supply of food to use in case of emergency, 
they left the clearing and trudged off on the trail by 
which they had arrived. 

They had not the least idea as to the direction of 
the road or its distance and decided to explore every 
trail or path and stream they found. It was a slim 
chance, and a plan which might require a long time 
ere the Gold Road was reached, but both were 
buoyed up with the hope that searching parties were 
even now looking for them and that they might 


92 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


hear the sound of their halloos. But luck was with 
the boys and a few hours after leaving the hut they 
came suddenly upon the old paved road. 

“I wonder which way we must go now,” ex- 
claimed Fred, as undecided, they stood looking 
about for some familiar landmark. 

Rob shook his head, “I'm all turned about,” he 
admitted. “But we're on the Gold Road, and that’s 
something.” 

Hardly had he spoken when the sound of a gun- 
shot rang through the forest. 

“Hurrah!” shouted Fred, “someone’s near,” and 
both boys dashed down the road in the direction of 
the report. 



The Secret of the Sword Hilt 

“ A HOY there !” cried a hearty voice as the 
r\ boys dashed around a sharp turn in the 
road and almost bowled over Captain 
Jack. “Well, I’ll be blowed!” he exclaimed. “Here 
ye be, tearin’ along under full sail with all standin’ 
and us nigh worrit to death o’ ye. Been a s’archin* 
here, there, an’ t’other place, fer ye all night. Dowse 
my toplights, but I’m right glad to see ye alive an’ 
well.” 

Despite his bluff speech and jocular manner the 
old man’s voice quavered and his eyes were moist 
as he grasped the boys’ hands, for he had been ter- 
ribly worried over their absence and had spent the 
entire night searching the woods and firing his gun 
at intervals. The other Scouts had begged to be 
allowed to scatter and search too; but the Captain 
would have none of this. “Some o’ ye might tack 
back along the road a piece, but don’t ye get offen 
your course and bring-to in the bush. Stick to the 


93 


94 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


channel an’ it’s all plain sailin’. The rest o’ ye’ll 
just keep to your moorings here in camp an’ if ye 
hear three shots, one after t’other, ye’ll know I’ve 
found ’em an’ ye can all about ship an’ make port.” 

So, in accordance with this understanding, he had 
scarcely greeted Rob and Fred when he raised his 
gun and fired three shots in rapid succession. 

“Jest to let yer shipmates know ye’re found,” he 
explained. “Though I reckon ’twas you found me, 
’stead o’ t’other ways about,” he added with a 
chuckle. 

“Now lads,” he continued as they started down 
the road, “where ye been an’ what happened ye?” 

Rapidly the boys related their adventures to the 
Captain who listened attentively, only interrupting 
with an occasonal exclamation of surprise. 

But before the tale was half finished, the other 
boys came trooping up the road and Rob and Fred 
had to begin all over again. Between the effusive 
greetings of their comrades and a volley of ques- 
tions, the boys had little chance to relate their ex- 
periences until camp was reached. 

Then, while the others listened with almost 
breathless interest, Fred and Rob told the story 
from start to finish. 

“Whew! but you chaps are lucky,” exclaimed 
Ned, “that was an adventure.” 

“It didn’t seem so much fun at the time,” de- 
clared Fred. 


THE SECRET OF THE SWORD HILT 95 


“What do you suppose made those tracks, and 
who killed old Ben, and whose skeleton was it, Cap- 
tain?” queried Rob. 

“Wall, I dunno,” repliecfthe old skipper. “Sailor 
folks are superstitious ye know, but jest the same, 
I reckon ’twa’nt the devil as made them footprints 
an’ kilt the old chap yonder. Mos’ likely some wild 
critter a nosin’ about, an’ what with the stories o’ 
ghosts an’ sech like, an’ a findin’ old Ben murdered, 
an’ a diggin’ up them bones, your minds were jest 
ready to think o’ suttin’ soopernat’ral first jump 
outen the box. I dunno who old Ben was, but I’ve 
heerd of him an’ seed him afore now. Never knew 
jest where he was a-livin’ though. Onc’t an’ a while 
he’d heave-to over to Colon an’ lay in his cargo o’ 
grub an’ such. Been to my place more’n onc’t, an’ 
seein’ as he alius paid for everything in ol’ Spanish 
onzas an’ doubloons, mos’ ev’ryone reckoned he’d 
run acrost a treasure an’ had gone daffy over it. 
But he’d never give nothin’ away — jest jabbered 
a lot o’ nonsense about pirates an’ maps an’ sperrits 
an’ such like. Fact is, some folks allowed as he 
was a pirate hisself, but o’ course, there ain’t no 
sense to that. Like as not though, he was some old 
salt as got hold o’ some yarn or map an’ actooally 
had the fool’s luck o’ findin’ loot. P’raps some chap 
follered him an’ kilt him, so’s to get the gold he’d 
hid away, or again, he may ha’ had a partner as 
wasn’t satisfied with his share. An’ as for that 


96 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


there skeleton chap, he might ha’ been a sure enough 
pirate or just some poor fellow what died an’ was 
buried yonder. For all we know he might ha’ been 
buried along o’ the treasure what oY Ben had dug 
from the same hole. Mebbe that there sword hilt 
ye found would give me some idee o’ how long he’d 
been a lyin’ there. Let’s have a squint at it* lad.” 

Taking the sword hilt, the old sailor examined 
it carefully, scraping and rubbing off the verdigris 
and dirt with his stubby forefinger. “Umm,” he 
muttered, “ ’Tain’t no new-fangled sword ’t any 
rate. I’ve seed suthin’ like it dug up ’round old 
forts over to Havana. It’s Spanish all right an’ 
dost to three hundred years old, I reckon.” 

At this instant the hilt suddenly separated, the 
butt slipping to one side, and revealing an opening 
in the brass. 

“Well, I’ll be scuttled!” exclaimed the old man 
in surprise, “what’s this, never seen nothin’ like it.” 

“Oh, there’s something inside,” cried Fred as he 
caught sight of some object within the recess of 
the hilt. 

Filled with intense excitement, the boys pressed 
close and watched breathlessly as the Captain drew 
forth a tiny cylinder of lead. 

“There’s suthin’ stowed in this here too,” he an- 
nounced as he shook the cylinder. 

“Hurry up and open it and see what ’tis,” cried 


THE SECRET OF THE SWORD HILT 97 


Rob. “Maybe it’s diamonds or something and the 
old fellow was a smuggler.” 

With the blade of his knife the Captain quickly 
cut open the lead case and disclosed a roll of yellow 
parchment. Carefully he smoothed it out and 
spread it on his knee and for an instant all gazed 
at it in silence, striving to decipher the quaint letter- 
ing. Suddenly Fred gave a shout, “It’s a map,” he 
yelled, “a real pirate’s map. Hurrah!” 

“I’ll be blowed if ’tain’t,” exclaimed the Captain. 
“Durned if ye young scamps ain’t run afoul o’ sut- 
thin’ arter all.” 

There was no doubt that the bit of parchment 
was a map, yellow with age, but with the writing 
and outlines still plainly visible. But to the boys’ 
eager eyes it conveyed no meaning, for the words 
were in ornate old English script and the map itself 
seemed merely a hodge podge of lines, crosses, 
figures and crudely-drawn mountains and trees. 

“What does it all mean?” asked Fred. “I can’t 
make head or tail of it.” 

“ ’Tis sort of a Chinese puzzle,” admitted the 
Captain, “but I reckon I can make suthin’ out of it 
in time. Lor’ bless ye, I’ve run acrost some rum 
maps an’ charts in my day. But look a-here, this 
’ere ’s only part of a map, tore off right acrost the 
middle,” he pointed to one uneven, ragged edge. 

“Now,” he continued, “one o’ ye fetch pencil an’ 
paper an’ write down the words as I spell ’em off. 


98 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


Then we’ll make a copy o’ the map an’ see if we 
can’t make sense outen it.” 

Rob quickly produced note book and pencil and 
the Captain, running his stubby finger along the 
words, slowly spelled out the quaint old English 
while Rob jotted them down. 

‘There ye be,” he exclaimed at last. “Now read 
’em off an’ see if it makes sense.” 

“It seems just nonsense,” declared Rob, “but per- 
haps you can understand it. This is the way it 
reads : 

“Ye Tesengalle lyth beyontt ye cross distante 
tewe score and tenne 

Ye shalle knowe ye way hither bye ye tewe gratte rockeyes 
lyke untto ye bittes of a shyppe and passynge hither ye 
to ye weste ye highe picos ryvenne intwaine and bearingge 
to ye southe suche tyme as ye sugare Ioffe be fayre atwixte 
Hence ye savanne offe ye dade wherat lyth much golde 
butte yette availyth naughte. No lesse thanne 
mennes at arrmes wyl suffyce welle equipyt and goodelye for ye 
feerce ande terryfyinge withalle. Usinge venommede dartes 
annd monstrosse witchkraffye andde charmmes of ye Duille such 
as no mene yette maybe ourkomme. 

No manne knoeth alle ye Dons beings destroyye save he who 
fearinge deth he givyth ya mappe to byee lyfe butte 
availyth hymme nothinge for ye Dons be evyre trikye ande fulle 
conninge and to asurre nonne ohtyre mytte profitte bye hys 
knowenge of yt a trewe findinge be mayde annd he mette ye — ” 

“Does sound a mite crazy,” remarked the Captain 
as Rob finished, “but ye see part o’ the map’s tore 
off — might o’ made sense if ye had t’other part. 
The chap what wrote it hadn’t had much eddication 
I reckon, judgin’ by the way he spelled, but I guess 
there’s some sense to it even as ’tis.” 


THE SECRET OF THE SWORD HILT 99 


“What do you make of it then?” interrupted 
Fred. “What's Tesengalle and all that about the 
fierce and terryfing men at arms and witchcraft and 
the savanna of the dead? It sounds as if old Ben 
might have written it himself." 

“Wall," replied the old sailor, “near as I can 
make out, it’s suthin' like this. Tisingal’s a lost 
mine — richest mine in the world 'cordin to all the 
old yarns, up Chiriqui way somewhere an’ worked 
by the old Spaniards. But the Injuns got tired o' 
bein' slaves an’ kicked up a shindy an' murdered 
every bloomin' Don there was an’ burned the town 
an’ hid the mine. No one’s ever found it since, 
though there's plenty looked for it, and they say 
as how onc't a couple o' rubber gatherers run afoul 
o' the old bells o’ the mission. Couldn’t find their 
way back though. They another chap, what was 
caught by the Injuns, fell in love with one o' the 
squaws an' she run away an’ guided him up to the 
settlements. He brought along a chunk o’ gold 
what he swore he’d whacked off a solid ledge o' 
gold with his machete, but he couldn’t find the way 
back an* the squaw was found dead with a pizen 
arrer in her one day, so she couldn't show the road. 
Mos' likely, some o' her folks trailed her down an' 
killed her so she couldn’t. Now this 'ere bit o' 
parchment looks to me like a map o' that there 
Tisingal mine an' if 'twasn't tore in half ye might 
find what folks has been a s'archin' for pretty nigh 


100 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


three hundred years. Bein’ torn it’s not worth 
much as a chart to set a course by. As for all that 
writin’, the words don’t make sense cause half of 
’em’s gone ; but ye can guess pretty nigh what they 
was. ’Cordin’ to my mind it gave the directions 
for follerin’ the chart, proper and shipshape. Now 
for instance, here’s the cross, but whether it’s two 
score an’ ten miles or yards or feet who’s agoin’ to 
know? Then it goes on to tell o’ them rocks like 
ships’ bitts, but the course ye set after sightin’ ’em ’s 
all missin’. Same with them cross-bearin’s of the 
split peak and the sugar-loaf hill. Nothin’ to tell 
ye which way to steer when ye get them bearin’s. 
Reckon this savanna o’ the dead’s one o’ them ol’ 
Injun bury in’ grounds as are plenty up Chiriqui 
way, but what that’s got to do with the map’s 
more’n I know. Reckon the old chap spoke the 
truth for once when he says it ‘avails nothin’,’ ” the 
old man chuckled and continued. “Next he starts 
in to say how many men’ll be needed to get there 
safe, for o’ course in them times there was a heap 
o’ wild Injuns about. Using poisoned darts is no 
lie, but his witchcraft and deviltry’s all nonsense, 
o’ course. Some poor Spaniard must ha’ managed 
to get clear o’ the massacre an’ mos’ likely was 
picked up by some British pirate — the same old chap 
who wrote this, an’ to save his hide, he handed over 
this bit o’ parchment. Then, so’s he wouldn’t tell 


THE SECRET OF THE SWORD HILT 101 


any one else, the Britishers just slit the poor rascal’s 
throat or run him through.” 

“Then the map’s no use after all,” exclaimed Fred 
sorrowfully, “and I thought we’d really found a 
clue to treasure.” 

“Reckon ’tan’t much use, far as gettin’ rich goes,” 
laughed the Captain, “but it’s a heap nearer to the 
real thing than most treasure-hunters get an’ a 
mighty interestin’ an’ valuable bit o’ document for 
a sooveneer o’ your adventures.” 

“I’d like to know where that other half is,” mused 
Rob. “I don’t see what the old skeleton chap kept 
it for, if it wasn’t any use.” 

“Perhaps he didn’t even know he had it,” sug- 
gested Ned. “He might have got the sword from 
some one and didn’t know the map was inside.” 

“Mebbe,” agreed the Captain, “but ’cordin’ to my 
way o’ thinkin’ that map was tore apart a-purpose. 
Mos’ likely there was two chaps as knew of it an’ 
so’s one couldn’t beat t’other to the mine they di- 
vided the map — one part bein’ no use without t’other 
— I’ve seen that done by sailor-men afore now.” 

“But why didn’t they go and find the mine?” 
asked Fred. 

“Mos’ likely they didn’t have a chance,” replied 
the Captain. “Then one of ’em got killed or died 
and t’other didn’t know what became of his bit o’ 
map and couldn’t do nothin’ without it. No, sirree, 


102 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


this piece o’ parchment’s mighty good proof that 
neither one of ’em ever went after that mine.” 

“Well, it’s too bad we couldn’t get the other 
half,” sighed Rob. “But as you say, it’s a fine 
souvenir, I guess you’d best take charge of it Cap- 
tain; it might get lost or something if we had it.” 

“Right ye be,” agreed the old sailor as he tucked 
the map carefully in his huge leather wallet. 
“Reckon it’s safe there,” he added, as he replaced 
the wallet in his pocket. 

The rest of the day was spent in camp, the boys 
finding plenty to occupy them in discussing the 
strange adventures of Rob and Fred and the old 
map. Even the Captain took a deep interest in the 
latter for throughout his life in Central America he 
had heard wondrous tales of the vast wealth of lost 
Tisingal and now, by merest chance, the only known 
clue to its whereabouts had been brought to light, 
only to prove of no value as a guide to the mine. 

But there were other matters which occupied his 
mind as well and which caused him grave concern. 
Who, he wondered, was the person who had struck 
down old Ben, and what had left those mysterious 
footprints beside the body? Although he had 
laughed at the boys’ fears and had passed the matter 
off lightly, yet he was greatly worried, for he could 
not rid his mind of thoughts of the midnight 
prowler about the camp and could not but feel that 
there was a connection between that visitor and the 


THE SECRET OF THE SWORD HILT 103 


murderer of the old hermit. If a murderer was 
at large who could say who might be his next victim 
and, even if there had been little danger before — 
even if old Ben had been struck down through 
motives of revenge or robbery — the assassin must 
realize that the crime had been detected and would 
be reported and here, in this lonely out-of-the-way 
corner of the Isthmus, his safest course would be 
to kill them all. 

Moreover, Captain Jack, like most sailors, was 
very superstitious and while he would not ac- 
knowledge any real belief in the supernatural origin 
of the cloven-foot marks, yet he well knew that no 
wild animal in the Central American forest could 
have left tracks of the kind described by the boys. 
The more he thought on these things the more he 
became convinced that the party should leave camp 
without delay and return to civilization, but for a 
long time he hesitated to broach the subject to the 
boys. 

Then a remark of Rob’s paved the way for him. 
“I reckon we might just as well up anchor and 
get under way homeward-bound,” he remarked. 
“ Ye’ve had a right smart bit o’ adventure, supplies 
won’t last much longer, an’ it looks to me as if the 
rains was a cornin’ on pretty quick. Besides, I’d be 
that nervous over some o’ ye gettin’ lost again that 
I’d be all done up an’ I’m a gettin’ too old to be 
stumpin’ about on this timber leg a s’archin’ for ye. 


104 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


'Course I don’t want to spile yer fun, but ye’ve had 
yer whack at campin’ an’ travelin’ the Gold Road 
and s’archin’ ruins an’ ye got a pretty good cargo 
o’ relics an’ such junk. Then there’s the map. Like 
as not, when ye get to Colon, ye may be able to 
make suthin’ more outen it — what with all the old 
books an’ papers and things ye can read there. Ye’ll 
find it mighty interestin’ readin’ about Tisingal an’ 
a heap more real, now ye’ve got a genooine pirate 
map o’ the place.” 

The boys had started a howl of protest as the 
Captain commenced to speak, but when he had 
ended they had quite changed their minds. 

“Cap’n Jack’s right,” declared Fred. “We’ve had 
a bully time and we’ve done all we expected and 
more too. I’m just wild to get home and tell all the 
other fellows.” 

“And read about Tisingal and show every one 
we’ve really found things,” added Rob. “Man! 
but won’t the others be sorry they didn’t join the 
Scouts and come along.” 

“We can crow over them, all right,” cried Ned. 
“Remember how they laughed and called us silly 
to go hunting for old ruins and things. Won’t they 
feel sick when we show them all we found and tell 
about the skeleton and old Ben and all.” 

So, every one being satisfied, it was decided to 
break camp the next morning and head for Porto 
Bello. 


THE SECRET OF THE SWORD HILT 105 


Captain Jack determined to keep watch that night 
and to sleep with one eye open, but he had been 
under a great strain during the boys’ absence and 
had lost a full night’s rest, and despite his vague 
fears and nervousness, his efforts to remain awake 
were in vain and he was soon snoring loudly. 

Nothing disturbed the Scout’s slumbers and it 
was bright daylight when they awoke. Rob was 
the first to scramble out of his hammock and, as he 
stepped from the camp and walked towards the 
fire, he stopped short, looking intently at the ground. 

“Captain, boys !” he shouted. “Come here, 
quick.” 

In an instant, he was surrounded by his com- 
panions, all gazing as if fascinated at the soft earth, 
where, plainly visible, unmistakable, were the im- 
prints of a cloven foot! 

The Captain was the first to speak. “Easy, easy, 
lads,” he exclaimed. “Don’t ye go an’ get all het up 
over nothin’. There aint a mite o’ sense in bein’ 
skeert o’ cow tracks.” 

Fred looked steadily at the old sailor for a mo- 
ment, and under the boy’s gaze, the Captain shifted 
uneasily and chewed viciously at the stem of his 
short pipe. 

“You don’t believe a word of what you’re say- 
ing,” declared Fred, “any one can see those are 
not cow tracks. Cows have four feet and what- 


106 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


ever made these tracks had only one hoof. Look 
here, where no one has walked, it’s plain enough.’ * 

“Mon, ’twas the De’il himself !” exclaimed Rob, 
“There’s no ither beastie as has one hoof an’ one 
foot.” 

The boys drew close together and glanced appre- 
hensively about as they stared at the spot, for the 
tracks were deep and clear and every one could see 
that the maker possessed one cloven and one human 
foot. 

And at Rob’s words the full significance of the 
tracks dawned upon them and the boys’ faces 
blanched with terror of the unknown, with the 
primitive, unreasoning, nameless fear of the super- 
natural, and, with one accord, they dashed head- 
long to the shelter of their camp. 

Then the Captain found his voice, “Ye be right 
lad,” he exclaimed. “I’d be looney as old Ben to 
think mortal cow left them tracks. Scuttle me, if 
I know what made ’em, but it’s up anchor an’ get 
out o’ here to my thinkin’.” 

Never had camp been broken more rapidly and 
willingly, for even the old sailor was terrorized by 
the Satanic footprints and the boys’ hands shook as 
they hastily packed their belongings, folded the tar- 
paulin, and without waiting to cook breakfast, 
started down the road as fast as they could travel. 

Not until the camp had been left several miles 
behind did they halt to kindle a fire and prepare a 


THE SECRET OF THE SWORD HILT 107 


meal and it was then that Rob made another dis- 
covery. As they sat about, waiting for their food 
to cook, he felt in his pocket for the old sword 
hilt and gave a cry of surprise. “Why, why, the 
hilt’s gone !” he exclaimed, half increduously, as he 
fumbled rapidly through his pockets. “It was here 
last night when I hung up my coat and now it’s 
gone. Some one’s taken it.” 

The Captain gave a low whistle. “Well, I’ll be 
blowed!” he cried. “Mebbe I’m offen my course, 
but that there bit o’ ol’ brass was what brought that 
— that — thing — a sneaking into camp, an’ ye arsk 
me. Lor’ only knows what he wanted it for or how 
he knowed ye had it, but there’s one thing sartin’, if 
I’m right then them tracks was made by flesh an’ 
blood, ’cause sperrits don’t go a cartin’ ol’ junk 
about — leastwise I never heerd o’ sech goin’s on, 
an’ moreover, if that’s what he was arter, an’ he 
took it, then he won’t be a troublin’ of us no more. 
Reckon there warn’t no mite o’ danger anyways. 
If he’d a wanted to hurt any on us he’d a done it 
afore — had plenty o’ chances with us all a snorin’ 
like grampuses. Blow me, if I don’t b’lieve some 
chap jest fixed up his foot to make them there tracks 
to skeer us an’ I’m sech a puddin’-headed ol’ swab 
as to swaller hook, line an’ sinker.” 

Such an explanation of the mystery seemed rea- 
sonable and the boys were wonderfully relieved at 


108 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


the suggestion and eagerly grasped at the Captain’s 
theory. 

“We are a lot of fools, not to think of that be- 
fore,” agreed Fred. “Just as likely as not some one 
saw us in that pit and thought we’d found treasure 
and waited till we went to sleep and then carried 
off the sword hilt thinking it was gold. And just 
so we’d be too scared to follow him, he made tracks 
like Old Nick himself.” 

“I’ll bet he’d been playing that same game on old 
Ben,” declared Rob. “Remember, how he talked 
about the devil, and he scared us away from that 
hole so’s he could see what was in there. His game 
worked all right, but I’m mighty sorry to lose that 
hilt. I’ll bet he killed old Ben, though.” 

“You ought to be thankful you gave the map to 
the Captain and didn’t leave it in the hilt,” said Ned. 
“You’ve still got the best of the souvenir.” 

At these words the Captain clapped his hand to 
his pocket, but the wallet was still safe with the 
map within it. 

Greatly relieved at this simple explanation of the 
mysterious tracks, but still nervous at the thought 
of a murderer at large in the forest, the scouts re- 
sumed their way towards Porto Bello and had cov- 
ered many miles before approaching darkness com- 
pelled them to camp. 

A careful watch was maintained all night, for the 
Captain had no intention of allowing any prowlers 


THE SECRET OF THE SWORD HILT 109 


to come near without his knowledge, and with dark- 
ness the boys’ fears increased so that few of them 
slept that night. But nothing disturbed the camp, 
no one approached and by the next afternoon the 
party reached Porto Bello. 

Luck was with them, for a schooner was in the 
harbor and about to sail for Colon, where the party 
landed in the best of spirits after a short and un- 
eventful sail up the coast. 

Over and over again the boys related the story 
of their trip to their young friends who were filled 
with envy, and openly admitted their chagrin and 
disappointment in not having accompanied the 
Scouts. 

Even the grown-ups listened with intense interest 
to the boys’ story and examined the various sou- 
venirs and relics, and complimented both boys and 
old Cap’n Jack on the success of the expedition. 

“I knew of that eccentric old Ben,” said Dr. 
Johnson. “He was a famous character on the 
Isthmus for years — seemed a harmless, half-witted 
old sailor who had somehow obtained a supply of 
old Spanish coins. I can’t imagine who could have 
killed him, the natives look upon such weak-minded 
people as directly under the protection of God, they 
wouldn’t harm him for all the wealth of the Isthmus. 
However, the Panamanian police should try to ap- 
prehend the murderer — its their affair — outside the 
zone. I’ll tell Colonel Rojas about it.” 


110 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


Weird sort of disguise for an assassin to take — 
leaving footprints like the Old Boy,” remarked 
Prof. Abbott. “I expect Ben’s crazy talk put the 
idea in his head. Wonder who he is anyway.” 

“Hello ! back again I see,” cried Captain Stelling 
as he ran briskly up the steps. “How’s treasure 
hunting, boys ? Been spinning the yarn of your ad- 
ventures, eh?” 

So, for perhaps the hundredth time, the boys re- 
peated their story for the Captain’s benefit. 

“I’ll wager I know who your devil-footed friend 
is,” he declared when the boys’ story was ended. 
“When I was up the Chagres last year the blacks 
were pretty nearly crazy and scared half to death by 
Obeah. You know they’re all French West Indians 
in that section and a mighty supersitious crowd. 
We couldn’t reason with them or coax or frighten 
sense into their woolly heads — said the Obeah man 
must be obeyed and swore there’d be all sorts of 
charms and spells put on them if they didn’t do as 
he said. Took a lot of time and lots of trouble to 
locate the old fakir, but found him at last in a 
little shanty out in the bush. Proved to be a mulatto 
chap and ugly as sin, but the strangest thing about 
him — and that’s where he got all his pull with the 
niggers — were his feet. One foot was all right but 
the other was deformed and double — regular cloven- 
foot effect. We gave him six hours to get out of 
the zone and made a bully bonfire of all his dead 


THE SECRET OF THE SWORD HILT 111 


and dried snakes and bones and other junk while 
the niggers stood around with eyes popping out of 
their heads expecting to see us swallowed up or 
wiped out of existence for desecrating old devil- 
foot’s charms. But when nothing happened the old 
chap’s stock dropped about a thousand below par 
and the whole gang swung square around and 
started after Mr. Obeah Man to pay him proper for 
being a fake. But he hadn’t waited — went while 
the going was good, and I’ll bet a month’s pay he’s 
the same old rascal that killed old Ben and stole 
Rob’s sword hilt.” 

Everyone agreed that this was undoubtedly the 
case and the conversation turned to Rob’s map. 

“There’s no doubt it’s genuine and very old,” 
declared Prof. Abbott, “and I think Cap’n Jack 
was right in his conjecture as to the intentional 
mutilation of the document. The drawing is so 
crude and the information so meager and frag- 
mentary that it is worthless as a guide, without 
the missing portion. It’s a most interesting relic, 
however, and should be carefully preserved. I 
would suggest that you make an accurate copy Rob 
and deposit the original in the library for safe 
keeping.” 

“I’ll do that,” declared Rob, “and I’m going to 
read all I can find about Tisingal.” 

“You’ll find it as interesting as any tale of ad- 
venture,” said Captain Stelling, “and you’ll learn 


112 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


a lot about the early history of the Isthmus. Great 
old times they used to have hereabouts. Some day 
that old mine’s going to be found and the lucky chap 
that spots it will be a multi-millionaire, if all the 
old Dons said about it are half true.” 

“Well, I’ve half found it, anyway,” laughed Rob 
as the boys rose to leave. 



In Costa Rica 


S EVERAL weeks had passed since the boys’ 
return from Porto Bello, and their adven- 
tures had been almost forgotten in the ex- 
citement of preparing for another journey, for Mr. 
Wilson was to take a trip to look over his interests 
in Costa Rica and Fred and Rob were to accom- 
pany him. 

The two boys had read all they could find in re- 
gard to the land they were to visit; Mr. Wilson had 
told them of the marvelous scenery, the wealth of 
wild life and the wonderful resources of the re- 
public, and a fellow passenger on the steamer which 
bore them towards Port Limon proved a veritable 
mine of information. 

Mr. Grayson was an explorer and scientist en- 
gaged in studying the prehistoric ruins of Central 
1 13 


114 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


America and the two boys were fascinated by his 
tales of the wonderful monuments, the beautiful 
carvings and the vast cities left by the once great, 
but long-forgotten, race which occupied the land un- 
told centuries before the advent of Europeans. But 
of all things his descriptions of the ancient graves 
proved most interesting to the boys and when Mr. 
Grayson showed them some of the golden images 
and bells taken from the tombs, the two boys vowed 
they would not be satisfied until they had found and 
opened some of the graves. 

Mr. Grayson was also deeply interested in the 
boys’ stories of their adventures and particularly in 
the finding of the map, which he assured them, was 
the only clue to the lost mine which had ever been 
found. 

“You’ll find a great deal about Tisingal in the ex- 
cellent library at San Jose,” he said. “It’s a fas- 
cinating story of lost treasure, but it’s my belief 
that if Tisingal is ever found it will be by accident.” 

“Do you suppose it’s really as rich as they said?” 
asked Fred. 

“It’s hard to tell,” replied Mr. Grayson. “What 
was considered vast wealth in the old days would 
seem comparatively little today, but I expect Tis- 
ingal was really a wonderful mine. It is supposed 
to have been the source from which the Indians se- 
cured all their gold, as the greatest number of gold 
images are found in the graves in Chiriqui and 


IN COSTA RICA 


115 


that neighborhood. Some idea of the amount that 
was buried may be obtained when I tell you that, 
several years ago, two men took over half a million 
dollars’ worth of gold from graves they opened, 
and they only opened a very small proportion of 
the graves in one small district.” 

“Whew !” exclaimed Fred. “I should think some 
one would open them all.” 

“There are strict laws against disturbing the 
graves or any other monuments or ruins without 
permission of the government,” replied the explorer. 
“Moreover, the living Indians are very superstitious 
about such things and resent any one meddling with 
the graves. They might make it very unpleasant 
in the more remote districts.” 

“Are there any real wild Indians in Costa Rica?” 
asked Rob. 

“Plenty of them,” declared Mr. Grayson, “but I 
doubt if there are any savage or hostile tribes. The 
natives tell stories of unknown Indians who kill all 
strangers who enter their territory ; but I’ve traveled 
over most of the republic and have never met one 
of them. Still, there is a great deal of Central 
America unexplored and unknown and it is not im- 
possible, or even improbable, that there may be such 
Indians. Of course, if they kill off all visitors, no 
one can return with first-hand information. But 
for that matter there are plenty of wild Indians in 
Panama.” 


116 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“Why, I thought all the Panamanian Indians 
were civilized,” exclaimed Rob. “We saw some 
San Bias Indians in Colon and they all wore clothes 
and talked English and acted just like the other 
natives. Fred and I talked to some of them and 
they said they’d been sailors on American schooners 
and had been to Boston and New York. They 
weren’t a bit interesting.” 

Mr. Grayson laughed. “Your San Bias Indians are 
pretty well civilized,” he agreed, “but if you went 
to their country down the coast you’d find they still 
retained many primitive customs, and, until quite 
recently, they had very strong objections to allow- 
ing any strangers to dwell in their district. But 
there are many Indians in Panama besides those of 
the San Bias coast. In Veraguas and Chiriqui there 
are Indians who file their teeth to points and live 
very primitive lives and of whom little is known, 
but the really ‘wild’ Indians are found in the 
southern part of the republic in Darien. There are 
two tribes there, the Chokois and the Kunas. The 
Chokois are very primitive and wear no clothes, but 
they are a peaceful, good-natured, happy tribe and 
visit the settlements and trade with outsiders freely. 
The Kunas are very distinct and while some of 
them are on good terms with the Panamanians and 
are called ‘mansos’ or tame, the greater part of the 
tribe are ‘bravos’ or wild and will not permit any 
civilized man to enter their district.” 


IN COSTA RICA 


117 


“Do they really kill people ?” asked Fred. 

“Undoubtedly,” replied the scientist, “I have 
visited some of their outlying villages and found 
them a very intelligent race and in some ways more 
civilized than the Chokois and the ‘tame’ Kunas, but 
they have made up their minds to keep their tribe 
pure and to retain their country to themselves.” 

“Why didn’t they kill you?” inquired Rob. 

“In the first place,” said Mr. Grayson, “I under- 
stand Indian ways and have the knack of winning 
their confidence through long association with them, 
but as a matter of fact I don’t believe the Kunas 
ever kill any one who enters their country for the 
first time or accidentally. But the trespasser is 
warned to get out and not to return and if he dis- 
obeys he takes the consequences. On one occasion 
a party of rubber gatherers about ioo strong, at- 
tempted to penetrate the 'forbidden district’ think- 
ing their numbers would prove a safeguard, but 
every morning a few would be struck down by 
poisoned arrows and only a dozen of the party 
finally reached the settlements, and yet they never 
saw an Indian. Just before my visit two men at- 
tempted to re-enter the Kuna country after having 
been warned out and a few days later their four 
thumbs were sent down to the settlements as 
souvenirs.” 

“Goodness, that’s news to me,” cried Fred. “I 
wish we’d known of those people, we might have 


118 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 

gone down to Darien and seen some really wild 
Indians.” 

“Aye, an’ be shot with poisoned arrows,” added 
Rob. “I'd rather bide wi’ the Chokois than yon 
Kunas.” 

“Well, I hope we have some adventures in Costa 
Rica,” declared Fred. “Could we get permission to 
open some graves?” 

“Probably not,” replied Mr. Grayson. “But I’ll 
tell you what we'll do. I'm planning to excavate a 
large cemetery near Terraba and which has never 
been disturbed. I understand Mr. Wilson is to visit 
Ysleta which is not far from there and if he’ll trust 
you boys in my hands for a week or ten days I’ll 
take you along and let you help me open the graves.” 

“Hurrah! that will be bully,” cried the boys in 
chorus and both hurried off to secure Mr. Wilson’s 
consent to the plan. 

Mr. Wilson had no objections to offer and all 
details were soon arranged. 

Early in the afternoon Port Limon was sighted 
with its lighthouse on its palm-fringed islet, and as 
the steamer drew slowly in towards shore the boys 
looked with interest on the big docks, the busy rail- 
way yards with their puffing locomotives and long 
strings of banana cars and the low buildings of the 
little town. 

They were soon ashore and spent the remaining 
hours of daylight wandering about the town and 


IN COSTA RICA 


119 


its pretty park, but they found Port Limon held 
little of interest, being merely a port on a low and 
narrow spit of land and quite tawdry and modern. 
Indeed, the most interesting sight to the boys was 
the clever machines by which the bunches of bananas 
were carried from the docks and into the hold of 
the waiting ship. r 

The sun had not yet risen above the blue Carib- 
bean the next morning when, after a hasty cup of 
coffee, the party boarded the train which was to 
carry them over the mountains to San Jose, the 
capital of the republic. 

For a few miles after leaving Port Limon, the 
way led through a dark swampy jungle, but the 
vegetation was marvelously luxuriant, gorgeous 
butterflies and brilliant birds flitted among the trees, 
and several times the boys caught fleeting glimpses 
of monkeys leaping from branch to branch. Then 
the swamps gave way to rolling prairie land, cov- 
ered with broad-leaved banana trees, stretching for 
miles and miles as far as eye could see, while, at 
every siding, were strings of box cars being loaded 
with thousands of bunches of the green fruit. 

"I never thought there were so many bananas in 
the world,” said Fred. 'Where on earth do they 
all go?” 

"To the United States, mainly,” replied Mr. 
Wilson. "Costa Rica is one of the largest banana 
producing countries in the world, but wherever the 


120 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


Fruit Company has holdings — in Colombia, Hon- 
duras, Nicaragua or even in Jamaica — you will see 
the same thing. Few realize the enormous numbers 
of bananas which are consumed each year. Over 
sixteen million bananas are brought into the United 
States weekly, and the mystery is where they go, for 
we seldom see more than one or two bunches here 
and there in the stores.” 

Soon the banana portreros were left behind; 
patches of forest alternated with well-tilled fields 
and clearings ; great herds of cattle were seen gaz- 
ing in rich pastures and the train roared across a 
bridge spanning a broad river, and drew up at a 
tiny station nestling at the foot of forest-covered 
hills. 

Here breakfast was served in the dining car and 
the train commenced its long upward climb of the 
mountains. Every moment the boys found some- 
thing to delight and interest them. Far below the 
track flowed the foam-flecked, tumbling river ; 
troops of monkeys leaped and chattered among the 
trees on the farther bank ; macaws, parrots, toucans 
and other strange birds winged their way across the 
stream; herons and egrets flapped from their feed- 
ing grounds as the puffing, snorting train toiled up 
the steep grades, and once or twice the boys caught 
glimpses of sleek dainty deer drinking at the river’s 
brink. 

But while the wild life was abundant, the scenery 


IN COSTA RICA 


121 


magnificent and the wealth of foliage marvelous, yet 
the boys were most impressed by the wonderful 
feats of engineering which were revealed at every 
turn. For mile after mile, the track wound around 
towering precipices, clinging to a narrow niche cut 
in the solid rock and the boys, looking from the 
windows, gazed down a sheer thousand feet to the 
rushing, foaming torrent far below, or, peering up 
on the other side, found the sky blotted from view 
by the overhanging mountain side. Round and 
round, in great horseshoe curves and hairpin turns 
the way led, and often twisting so sharply on itself 
that the locomotive was directly above the last car. 
Sometimes too, the train roared into tunnels of 
Stygian blackness, to rush forth into the sunshine 
on the opposite side of some stupendous mountain, 
or again, it crept slowly over cobweb-like bridges of 
such immense height that the forests in the valley 
beneath seemed mere patches of soft green moss 
and the rushing mountain torrents were transformed 
to silver threads. 

Steadily, tirelessly ; for hour after hour, the train 
climbed up the mountains, which rose in tier after 
tier on every hand and were covered everywhere 
with the interminable forests of every imaginable 
shade of green. 

Several times the boys noticed great steam 
dredges standing on sidings and when, at Juar 
Vinas, the train stopped for water and the pas- 


122 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


sengers alighted to stretch their legs and secure re- 
freshments, Fred noticed another of the uncouth- 
looking machines and inquired what they were for. 

“To dig away landslides,” replied Mr. Wilson. 
“Slips are of almost daily occurrence on this road 
and formerly trains were often stalled and the pas- 
sengers held prisoners for hours, or even days, by 
slides blocking the tracks. To prevent this, the 
company now maintains steam dredges at all the 
most troublesome spots.” 

“I’d like to see a landslide,” declared Rob. “It 
must be quite an experience to be marooned on a 
railway train.” 

“You may have that experience yet,” laughed Mr. 
Grayson. “It’s now the beginning of the rainy 
season when slides are most likely to occur and 
we’ve a long distance to travel yet.” 

“Do they ever kill any one?” asked Fred. 

“Strangely enough, fatal accidents are extremely 
rare on this road,” replied his father. “A few trains 
have been derailed and there have been one or two 
collisions, but I don’t recollect hearing of any pas- 
senger being seriously injured or killed.” 

About half an hour after leaving Juan Vinas, the 
train swung around a sharp bend, and with a grind- 
ing of brakes and a series of bumps and jolts, came 
to a sudden stop. 

“What’s the matter?” cried Rob, as every one 
rose and hurried to the doors of the car. 


IN COSTA RICA 


123 


“That slide you were wishing for, I expect, ! ” re- 
plied Mr. Wilson. 

Hurying forward, the party came in sight of the 
track ahead and a single glance sufficed to show the 
reason for the halt. 

For a hundred feet or more, the rails rose up in 
billowy curves at a steep angle and stretching crazily 
across the huge mound of soft mud, from which 
projected broken limbs, great boulders and uprooted 
trees, while on the mountain slope above, a great 
bare gully of sand and rock marked the track of 
the slide. 

“Whew!” exclaimed Fred. “That's some slide. 
Why it looks as if half the mountain had slipped 
down. How will they ever fix it so we can get 
through ?” 

“You’ll see presently,” replied his father. “This 
is where the dredges came in handy. Look, they’re 
telegraphing for one now.” He pointed to a man 
who was climbing rapidly up a telegraph pole. 
Reaching the wires he quickly connected the in- 
strument slung over his shoulder and in a moment 
was ticking off a message for help. 

“I thought slides covered up the tracks,” re- 
marked Rob, “this one has left them all bare and 
has just boosted them right up in the air.” 

“That’s a peculiar feature of many of the slips, 
here,” replied Mr. Grayson. “They do the same 
thing over in the Canal. You must have seen the 


124 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


way landslides force islands up through the water 
at Culebra Cut.” 

‘‘Yes, we’ve seen those,” admitted Rob, “but 
somehow seeing a track lifted up, and with the mud 
and trees and everything shoved underneath, seems 
much stranger.” 

“Did you ever see a slide as bad as this on the 
road before?” asked Fred. 

The two men laughed. “Why, this is nothing,” 
declared Mr. Wilson. “I remember on one occasion 
we ran up to a slide below here and after some 
hours delay managed to shovel it away by hand and 
get through — that was before the days of dredges 
you see. Then, a few miles farther on, we came to 
one of these burrowing slides, and finding it impos- 
sible to go on, and that several days would be re- 
quired to repair the tracks, we started back to Juan 
Vinas. Imagine our feelings when we found the 
first slide had come down again carrying away rails 
and all and completely barring our way. There we 
were, shut in between two impassable slides without 
food, sleeping accommodations or means of sending 
a message, for both poles and wires were down. To 
make matters worse the rain commenced to fall in 
torrents. Finally, two of the passengers — Ameri- 
cans they were — managed to dig and force a way 
through the slide, and tapping a wire, sent a call to 
Cartago asking for a special train to come down to 
the slide. The idea was that while waiting for the 


IN COSTA RICA 


125 


train we could dig some sort of a path over the 
slide so the women could reach the further side. We 
had just finished this when we heard the whistle of 
the relief train, but when half an hour passed with 
no sign of it we realized something had gone wrong. 
Then, just as we were beginning to despair, a hand- 
car came trundling into sight and we learned that 
a third slide had prevented the train from coming 
within a couple of miles. So we piled the women 
and baggage onto the handcar and pushed it up the 
track. That doesn't sound difficult, but when I tell 
you that we had to cross Juan Vinas trestle on the 
wet and slippery ties and in a crashing thunder 
storm you may imagine what we were up against. 
I'm not nervous, but I don't mind admitting 
that my heart was literally in my mouth and 
that I felt actually faint as we jumped from tie 
to tie, and at every step, I expected to go hurt- 
ling through space to the rocks two hundred feet 
beneath. We managed to reach the train safely, 
however; but I’d spend a week on a foodless train 
rather than take that trip again. It wouldn't have 
been so bad if we’d found food and a comfortable 
train waiting for us, but instead, we found the 
“special” train consisted of a flat car and a loco- 
motive. For six fearful hours we were huddled on 
that dirty, rattling, old flat-car without food or 
shelter until we reached Cartago at one o'clock the 
next morning.” 


126 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“Thanks to the dredges, they do better now- 
adays/' remarked Mr. Grayson. “Listen! there 
comes the dredge now." 

As he spoke, the boys caught the sound of an 
approaching locomotive, there was a shrill whistle, 
and around a jutting cliff came the ponderous, sin- 
ister-looking dredge. 

Without a moment's delay it commenced work; 
a crowd of laborers swarmed from it like a bevy 
of black and brown ants and fell on the tracks, rip- 
ping them up and casting them aside, while behind 
them, the great steel arm rose and fell majestically, 
irresistibly; its enormous hand-like bucket grasping 
tree trunks, boulders and tons of mud, and seem- 
ingly without effort, tossing them over the precipice. 
It was fascinating to see the rapidity and ease with 
which the powerful machine gnawed its way into 
the mound while sweating men hurriedly threw 
down ties and spiked rails into place over which 
the ponderous, roaring thing moved forward with 
the calm, undeviating assurance of some stupendous 
monster. 

In a marvelously short space of time the last 
vestige of the slide had been removed, the last 
lengths of track had been laid, the dredge retreated 
to its lair beyond the mountain spur, and the pas- 
sengers climbed aboard the train and resumed their 
interrupted journey. 

A few miles further on, they passed the dredge, 


IN COSTA RICA 


127 


standing inert and silent on its siding, and a mo- 
ment later, commenced a seemingly endless climb up 
a terrific grade towards the very summits of the 
cloud-capped mountains. 

“Is San Jose right up in the sky?” asked Fred, 
as he craned his neck in an effort to see where the 
track led. 

“Pretty near it,” laughed his father, “it’s nearly 
a mile above the sea and we have to climb right over 
the mountain crest and slide down the other side. 
We are almost at the summit of the divide now.” 

A few minutes later the locomotive screeched 
out a triumphant whistle, the train swung around a 
bend, and with a defiant roar, swept swiftly down 
grade. The boys exclaimed with delight at the 
lovely sight which lay before them, for no longer 
were there endless forests, grim precipices and 
tumultuous rivers. Instead, they looked down upon 
vast, rich valleys, red-roofed villages and dark green 
coffee groves, while, far in the distance, swept the 
great mountain ranges, their rugged outlines soft- 
ened with luminous purple haze above which rose 
the massive symmetrical cones of huge volcanoes. 
Rapidly the train slipped down; through gardens of 
surpassing beauty, past country villas embowered 
in palms and wonderful verdure, between endless 
rows of fragrant-flowered coffee trees and fruit 
orchards and with clanging bell crawled through the 
outlying villages and into the station at Cartago. 



Off for New Adventures 


A S the train stopped but a short time at Cartago 
r\ the boys had no opportunity to see the 
town, but they were not at all impressed by 
its appearance as seen from the car windows. The 
houses and buildings seemed poor and unattractive 
and many ruined walls and buildings were visible. 
These, Mr. Wilson explained, were due to a severe 
earthquake and landslide which had practically de- 
stroyed the town a few years previously and he 
added that Cartago was particularly subject to such 
calamities, and had been destroyed with great loss of 
life on several occasions. 

“No doubt it’s owing to its proximity to Irazu,” 
said Mr. Grayson. “It’s an active volcano, look, 
that lofty, conical mountain yonder — but earth- 
quakes are very common throughout the country, 
even San Jose has suffered severely and heavy 
quakes are an everyday matter.” 

“Isn’t the volcano likely to have an eruption, if 
it’s active?” asked Fred. 


128 


OFF FOR NEW ADVENTURES 


129 


“All active volcanoes — and dead ones for that 
matter — are liable to break forth at any time, ,, re- 
plied Mr. Grayson. 'And within the past year Irazu 
has thrown out immense quantities of ashes and 
dust, but people become accustomed to living near 
volcanoes and even after disastrous eruptions re- 
build their homes in the same places.” 

“I’d love to see a volcano in eruption,” declared 
Rob. '‘Can persons go up to Irazu’s crater?” 

“Quite easily,” Mr. Grayson assured him. “But 
the crater itself is by no means as interesting as the 
view from the summit. On a clear day one may 
look from there upon both the Atlantic and Pacific 
Oceans. I believe its the only spot in the world 
where that is possible.” 

“Perhaps we’ll be able to arrange an excursion to 
the summit,” said Mr. Wilson, “I’d like you boys to 
see as many of the wonders of this country as you 
can.” 

The train had now left Cartago and was rushing 
through a beautiful verdant country with cultivated 
fields, coffee groves and orange orchards on all 
sides, and with numerous villages and settlements 
of picturesque, adobe buildings with red-tiled roofs. 
Here and there, the boys saw huge, lumbering bull 
carts toiling along the roads and at every crossing 
were the country people in their national costumes ; 
the women in gorgeous rebosas, snowy camisas and 
gay skirts ; the men in short jackets, flaring trousers 


130 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


and sandals and looking quite brigandish with their 
scarlet sashes supporting long sword-like machetes. 

Soon, houses became more frequent, the train 
slowed down, and with clanging bell rumbled 
through the outskirts of San Jose and into the 
station at the capital. 

As, seated in a motor car, the party were whirled 
through the streets to the hotel, the boys expressed 
their surprise at the size and modernity of the city. 
The smooth, wide, straight streets and avenues ; the 
streams of automobiles, carriages, trolley cars and 
horsemen ; the thick- walled, mansion-like houses 
with glimpses of magnificent patios through ornate 
gateways ; the splendid public buildings ; the numer- 
ous large, well-stocked stores ; the massive churches 
and the lovely parks, were all a revelation, for al- 
though the boys had read much about Costa Rica 
they had thought of San Jose as a sleepy, little 
capital of a miniature republic and nothing had 
prepared them for the busy, up-to-date city which 
they found. 

Particularly were they impressed with the cleanli- 
ness of everything, for the streets seemed scrubbed 
and polished, and indeed, Mr. Wilson assured them 
that the streets actually were scrubbed and washed 
each morning and that to throw rubbish, or any- 
thing else, in the streets or gutters was a serious 
offense. 

During their stay in San Jose the boys found 


OFF FOR NEW ADVENTURES 


131 


much to interest them. There was the great theater, 
which Mr. Wilson told them was one of the finest 
in the world; the beautiful old churches with their 
priceless paintings ; the huge market with its motley 
throng of country folk who came from far and near 
in their house-like bull carts with wheels hewn from 
sections of tree trunks; the president’s palace; the 
military barracks with its denim-clad soldiers and 
gorgeous officers; the parks where the band played 
of afternoons and “all the world and his wife,” 
promenaded around and around dressed in their 
best, while the “young bloods” of illustrious old 
Castilian families pranced about on splendid 
Arabian steeds caparisoned in saddles and bridles 
heavy with silver; and last, but in the boys’ eyes 
most fascinating of all, the museum with its huge 
collections of birds, animals and ancient Indian 
relics. 

Here they saw quantities of the beautifully- 
wrought golden bells, the quaint old images and the 
elaborate golden ornaments which Mr. Grayson had 
described. And the collections were made doubly 
interesting by Mr. Grayson who told the boys won- 
derful tales of prehistoric people and their ruined 
cities and related his experiences in far-off corners 
of the earth, until both boys were convinced that 
there could be nothing more interesting than to ex- 
cavate ancient cities, and, from the ruins, build up 
the histories of long-dead races. 


132 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


Many excursions were also made to nearby places. 
They visited Alajuela and its vast coffee groves; 
they traveled on horseback to enormous estates 
whose owners lived like veritable feudal lords, and 
they clambered up mighty Irazu and gazed forth 
from its summit across endless mountains and deep 
valleys to the glittering surfaces of the two oceans. 

It was while climbing Irazu that the boys saw their 
first live Quetzals — the sacred bird of the Aztecs — 
and for an hour or more they watched the glorious 
scarlet, green and golden creatures in the primaeval 
oak forests of the mountain side. 

“Wouldn’t it be fine to have a tame Quetzal,” ex- 
claimed Rob, as one of the dazzling birds flashed, 
like a green comet, through the still air to catch a 
passing butterfly. 

“They’ll not live in confinement,” replied Mr. 
Grayson. “They are insect and fruit eaters and 
thrive only in these heavy forests. They nest in 
holes in trees.” 

“I don’t see how they can go in and out of holes 
without spoiling their long tails,” remarked Fred. 

“The female Quetzal has rather a short tail,” re- 
plied the scientist, “but the males also sit on the eggs 
and they manage to do this without injuring the 
tail by the simple expedient of making a hole 
straight through the tree. Then they don’t have to 
turn around inside and the tail projects from the 
hole while the bird is sitting.” 


OFF FOR NEW ADVENTURES 


133 


The boys thought this a most ingenious and in- 
teresting habit and, as they resumed their tramp, 
they peered sharply at the great trees in the hopes 
of catching a glimpse of a Quetzal on its nest. 

But much as the boys found to interest them and 
occupy their time in and about the capital, they were 
impatient to get away from civilization and into the 
interior where they could hunt some of the strange 
animals they had seen in the museum and could 
delve with Mr. Grayson among the tombs of the 
prehistoric Indians. 

At last, Mr. Grayson announced that he was 
ready to leave and suggested that the boys should 
accompany him without waiting for Mr. Wilson. 

Fred's father willingly gave his consent to this 
and, in high spirits, the boys watched the suburbs 
of San Jose speed past the windows of the train 
which bore them westward towards the Pacific. 

But they had traveled less than half way to the 
western ocean when the train drew up at a tiny way 
station and the party disembarked and found mules 
and men awaiting them. 

Soon all the baggage was lashed to the pack 
animals; the three travelers mounted their saddle 
mules, and accompanied by a couple of swarthy 
muleteers and a grinning Mestizo boy, the cavalcade 
cantered briskly off. 

‘Til bet this is just the way the old Dons used 
to ride over the Gold Road,” declared Fred. “Re- 


134 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


member how old Ben described the jingling bells 
and the shouts of the muleteers ?” 

“Yes, and our muleteers look wild enough to be 
real pirates in disguise/' laughed Rob. 

Mr. Grayson smiled. “Methods of life and 
travel have changed but little here in 300 years/' he 
said. “I don’t doubt the muleteers of Morgan's 
time were much like those of today. By the way, 
did you know this was a 'Gold Road/ too?” 

“Why no,” exclaimed Fred in surprise, “I 
thought there was only one Gold Road.” 

“There’s only one which has been made famous 
by Morgan’s raid on Panama and the history of the 
Isthmus,” replied Mr. Grayson, “but in all the 
Spanish colonies there were well-built highways 
leading from the seaports to the mines, or from 
ocean to ocean, and over which all the vast wealth 
of the Dons was transported. This road was known 
as the Camino Real (King's Highway) and many 
of the ancient Spanish bridges, built in the days of 
Cortez and De Soto, are still standing and as strong 
as ever, we’ll cross one of them very soon.” 

“It’s just like those on the Gold Road,” was the 
boys' comment as they clattered over the quaint 
arched bridge with its little sentry towers. 

Time passed rapidly, for the boys found some- 
thing to interest them at every turn. The brilliant 
birds and butterflies ; the strange and luxurious ver- 
dure, and the wonderful vistas of mountain and val- 


OFF FOR NEW ADVENTURES 


135 


ley, of forest and river, delighted them, for it was 
all very different from anything they had seen in 
Panama. Moreover, the air was cool and dry and 
there was no hint of the humid, oppressive heat of 
the Isthmus, for they were traveling over the high 
table lands of the Codilleras where a temperate 
climate prevailed and northern fruit and vegetables 
are grown to perfection. 

Many long miles had been covered, when, late in 
the afternoon, the party halted at a wayside inn or 
“fonda” and the boys were delighted when they saw 
it, for it was the exact counterpart of the ruined 
fonda they had explored on the Gold Road. But 
instead of being tumble-down and deserted this 
“Fonda de Caballeros Bravos” (Inn of the brave 
horsemen), was in excellent repair and teeming with 
life and business. The paved patio was crowded 
with a motley gesticulating, chattering throng of 
muleteers, cartmen and farmers; horses and mules 
stamped and jingled their bells at the hitching rails; 
great, lazy, long-horned bulls placidly chewed their 
cuds beside their cumbersome carts ; women in bril- 
liant-hued costumes were frying tortillas on hot 
irons over charcoal braziers and everywhere was 
noise, color and animation, for the inn was at the 
junction of two great highways leading from the 
distant corners of the republic to the capital. 

“It's just as if we’d stepped back three hundred 
years,” exclaimed Fred, as pushing their way 


136 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


through the throng, they entered the inn. Once in- 
side the walls, all resemblance to the ancient fonda 
of the Gold Road vanished, however. Instead of 
swaggering Dons in velvet and lace, quiet, prosper- 
ous-looking, well-bred planters in khaki and riding 
leggins sat at the tables discussing the latest war 
news and the coffee market. Cheap American 
glasses took the place of pewter tankards; brass 
candlesticks had given way to Rochester lamps, and 
the walls were decorated with posters advertising 
patent medicines and liquors. Across one end of 
the room, were several luxurious hammocks and, 
conspicuously tacked to the wall nearby, was a no- 
tice in Spanish, which translated, was as follows: 

“Gentlemen will refrain from sleeping in the 
hammocks without first removing their spurs.” 

“That’s the funniest thing I’ve seen here yet,” 
laughed Rob, as tired with their long ride, the boys 
flung themselves into the hammocks. 



The Boys Make a Strange Friend 

A FEW miles beyond the fonda, the road com- 
menced to descend, winding down the 
mountain side in great sinuous curves, 
doubling on itself, zigzagging in and out and rapidly 
bringing the travelers from the lofty highlands to 
the level lowlands. Looking down upon it from the 
heights, the country below appeared to be a vast, 
gray green carpet, level as a table and cut by in- 
numerable silver threads of rivers; but when the 
last ridge was left behind, the boys found the coun- 
try undulating and hilly, broken by deep gullies or 
ravines and with broad prairies alternating with 
patches of dense forest growth. 

Everything seemed dry and parched in com- 
parison with the cool greenery of the mountain 
heights and the wind was hot, dry and filled with 
dust. Only in the gullies, through which flowed the 
streams, was there moisture and to these the cattle 
had thronged by hundreds from the parched prairie 


137 


138 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


lands and had roiled and muddied the water until 
it was unfit to drink. But many had been unable to 
reach their goal and had fallen by the roadside 
where their bones lay whitening in the sun, while 
great flocks of repulsive black vultures stood about, 
gorged to repletion on the unfortunate cattle. 

“It’s like crossing a desert,” remarked Fred. “I 
never thought a place could be so hot and dusty and 
dry, and all the dead cattle and skeletons, they make 
me think of the descriptions of the caravan routes 
Qn the Sahara.” 

“It’s not always so hot and dry here,” replied Mr. 
Grayson. ‘This is a period of drought, but as soon 
as the rains commence the country will spring into 
life and beauty. The grass will be lush and green 
and higher than our horses' backs, the cattle will be 
sleek and fat, wonderful flowers will cover the 
prairies with a carpet of gorgeous color and the 
place will teem with bird, animal and insect life.” 

“Well, I wish some rains would come now,” de- 
clared Rob, “I’m fair dyin’ o’ thirst an’ broiled with 
the heat.” 

“We’ll soon be past this arid stretch,” Mr. Gray- 
son assured him. “That dark line on the horizon 
ahead is the forest belt and marks the valley of the 
Rio Duke — we’ll have plenty of good water and 
cool shelter there, with charming country beyond.” 

Somewhat cheered by this, the boys managed to 
control their thirst and to endure the blistering heat 


THE BOYS MAKE A STRANGE FRIEND 139 


and stinging dust without further complaint, and an 
hour later, entered the cool, green forest and dis- 
mounted at the brink of a broad rippling river. 

Here camp was made, all agreeing they had suf- 
fered enough discomforts to entitle them to a long 
rest, and every one enjoyed a refreshing bath in the 
stream. 

For many hours after leaving camp the next 
morning the way led through the forest, until early 
in the afternoon, they emerged from the shelter of 
the giant trees to see broad green savannas stretch- 
ing away — flat as a board, to the hazy, distant 
mountains. 

Unlike the hilly prairies they had left, the 
savannas were fresh and cool; the river flowed in 
great, lazy, serpentine curves through the center and 
dark wooded “islands” and clumps of graceful 
palms rose above the waving grass upon which knots 
of sleek cattle grazed contentedly. But the boys 
saw little of this, for their whole attention was in- 
stantly centered upon a flock of great pink birds 
which rose from the shallow stream at the travelers* 
approach. They were Roseate Spoonbills and both 
boys uttered cries of admiration as the magnificent 
creatures circled and alighted a few hundred yards 
away looking like a giant rose-colored cloud against 
the greenery. 

“Aren’t they magnificent!” exclaimed Fred. 


140 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“There must be thousands of them,” declared 
Rob. 

Mr. Grayson laughed, “Not quite that,” he said, 
“several hundred I should think; but you’ll soon 
become accustomed to such sights. Look yonder, 
near the cattle, and you’ll see a flock of flamingos. 
Those enormous white birds — as high as the cattle 
— are Jabirus or South American storks and the 
smaller dots of white are egrets. The country 
teems with birds and animals and game is abundant. 
I expect we can dine on roast duck tonight as Mus- 
covies are all about. We’ll go into camp early and 
you boys can have a little hunt for a change.” 

Accordingly, camp was made in a little copse of 
palm trees and the boys, accompanied by Jose the 
Mestizo, wandered off towards a little creek. Ducks 
were very plentiful and the great black and white 
Muscovies were so ridiculously tame and unsus- 
picious that the boys declared it was like shooting 
barn-yard fowl. Enough for their needs were se- 
cured in a few minutes, and sending the birds to 
camp by Jose, the boys seated themselves in a se- 
cluded spot and devoted an hour or more to watch- 
ing the wildfowl that fairly swarmed in the vicinity. 

There were ducks of a dozen kinds — brown and 
black tree ducks, teal, Muscovy and many the boys 
did not recognize; a score of species of herons, 
ranging from the tiny green herons to the great 
blue-gray Cocoi and snow white egrets; spoonbills 


THE BOYS MAKE A STRANGE FRIEND 141 


and ibis and an occasional flamingo, besides a host 
of smaller birds — purple gallinules and gray coots, 
shy rails and long-legged stilts, dainty sandpipers 
and plover, while everywhere, the brown and yellow 
jacanas or “spur- wings” ran nimbly back and forth 
across the lily pads and supported by their gro- 
tesquely long toes. 

“It’s just like a huge aviary,” declared Fred, as, 
at last, the boys rose and started towards camp. 

For the next two days the travelers rode through 
this beautiful savanna country with its abundant 
life and the boys repeatedly expressed their surprise 
that it was not inhabited. 

“I should think people would live here,” said 
Fred, “but we haven’t seen a single house — except 
those cattle herders’ shacks, and we haven’t met 
over half a dozen people on the road.” 

“There is no reason for any one dwelling here,” 
replied Mr. Grayson. “The savannas are flooded in 
the rainy season and they swarm with mosquitos at 
that time. There are no crops which will do well 
here and the district is only useful as grazing 
grounds. In other parts of the world, people might 
reclaim such land and cultivate it, but not here in a 
country where there is such an abundance of better 
land nearer towns and railways.” 

“Well, I’m glad they don’t live here,” declared 
Rob. “If the place was settled there wouldn’t be 
any game.” 


142 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


Gradually, the savannas merged into low hills ; the 
grass gave way to brush and patches of forest, and 
by mid afternoon on the second day, the party rode 
slowly up a long ridge under the shade of giant trees. 
As they reached the summit, Mr. Grayson halted 
and pointed to a lovely valley spread before them 
and encircled by forest-covered hills. 

“There’s the end of our journey,” he said, as the 
boys drew rein beside him. “See those white specks 
and lines yonder? Those are the ancient graves 
and walls.” 

“My, but there are lots of them,” exclaimed Fred. 

“Several hundred in this one valley,” declared 
Mr. Grayson, “but I don’t expect to open them all.” 

Cantering rapidly down the slope along a narrow 
path the party soon reached the valley, and while the 
men made camp, the boys wandered about, exam- 
ining the graves and the strange relics of a long- 
dead race. 

It was too late to commence work that evening 
and the boys could scarcely restrain their impatience 
and were up and ready for work at daybreak the 
next morning. 

“We might as well commence with the nearest 
graves,” remarked Mr. Grayson, as breakfast over, 
the men gathered up picks and shovels and waited 
for orders. 

Close at hand, were numerous mounds of stones 
which marked graves, and having photographed and 


THE BOYS MAKE A STRANGE FRIEND 143 


measured the nearest, Mr. Grayson ordered the men 
to begin. The boys, enthusiastic and anxious to see 
what was hidden beneath the stones, fell to work 
also and in a short time the great stone slabs, which 
covered the tomb, were exposed. These were five 
or six feet in length and a foot or more in width 
and very heavy, and the united efforts of every one 
were required to move them from their resting 
places. At last, with a mighty heave, one of the 
stones was tossed aside, exposing a rectangular 
chamber about a yard in depth and neatly walled 
with cobble stones. It was dark, damp and musty, 
but the boys knelt at its edge and peered intently 
within. 

“Hurrah !" shouted Fred. “There's a lot of pots 
and things and some bones; but I don't see any 
gold." 

Mr. Grayson smiled, “we’ll find those in every 
real grave," he said, “but you cannot see the gold, 
even if it’s there; it will be covered up with dust 
or concealed in the vessels. Besides, there’s not one 
grave in a dozen that contains any gold. We must 
move these other stones before we can examine the 
grave carefully." 

As soon as the remaining slabs were lifted off, 
Mr. Grayson photographed the interior of the grave 
and then stepped carefully within it, cautioning the 
boys to use every care not to disturb or break the 
bones or pottery. The skeleton was first placed in 


144 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


a basket and removed and then each of the beauti- 
fully decorated pots and vessels was lifted and ex- 
amined for anything it might contain. 

“Isn't it just wonderful to think that these things 
have been here for thousands of years/' exclaimed 
Fred. “And these pots don’t look as if they'd been 
here a year, the paint’s just as fresh and bright as 
new." 

“And to think the old chap's been resting here all 
those years," added Rob. “Why, man, he didn't 
even know America’d been discovered!" 

But as pot after pot was found empty, or con- 
tained only the remains of seeds or grain, the boys 
began to lose interest. 

“Let’s open another grave," suggested Rob. “I 
guess this old fellow was too poor to have any 
gold.” 

“Not a bit of it," cried Fred, “just look here." 
He had thrust his hand into a wide mouthed jar and 
had drawn forth a grotesque image of solid gold. 

“There are more inside," he declared, as Rob and 
Mr. Grayson examined the find. As he spoke he 
lifted the vessel and turning it upside down dumped 
out a dozen or more gleaming golden objects which 
fell tinkling on the stones. 

There were images, bells, bracelets and last of all 
a sun-shaped disk of beaten gold. 

“Whew!" cried Rob, “If every one of these 
graves has that much gold there must be a fortune 


THE BOYS MAKE A STRANGE FRIEND 145 

here. I’ll take back all I said about the old chap— 
he must have been a regular millionaire." 

“Don't expect to find such treasures in every 
grave, ’ laughed Mr. Grayson. “This is a remark- 
able find, that one pot contained more gold than 
I’ve ever before seen in a single grave. Fred, you 
must be a mascot." 

But no trace of gold was found in other graves 
that day and, as grave after grave was opened, and 
the days passed without finding more than an occa- 
sional golden bell or image, the boys' enthusiasm 
waned and they found greater interest in hunting 
in the surrounding forest. 

Game was plentiful and deer, monkeys, peccaries 
and curassows formed a large part of their diet, 
while both boys were filled with pride because of 
two fine jaguars they had killed. 

On their first few trips they had been accompanied 
by Jose, but as they became more familiar with the 
district and the forest they left the Mestizo with 
Mr. Grayson and wandered off by themselves, and 
each day going further from the camp in the valley. 

Thus it happened that on one morning they had 
tramped for several hours without finding game 
and, coming to the banks of a small stream, Fred 
suggested they should cross over into the forest 
where they had never been. 

“All the game's been scared away around here," 


146 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


he declared. “If we’re going to shoot anything to- 
day we’ve got to go into new country.” 

Rob, with his native Scotch caution suggested 
that they might lose their way, but Fred laughed at 
the idea and pointed out that by cutting blazes on 
the trees they could always find their way back. 

So, crossing the stream and taking careful note 
of the landmarks, the two boys entered the strange 
forest and blazed the trees as they proceeded. For 
some time they tramped on, stopping repeatedly to 
listen for sounds of game, but while tracks were 
numerous, birds and animals were scarce. They 
had almost given up and were speaking of turning 
about, when, with one accord, both halted and stood 
silent and motionless looking at each other with 
questioning, half-frightened faces, for both had 
heard a low moaning groan as of some being in 
anguish. 

“What was it?” whispered Fred. 

“I don’t know,” admitted Rob, “but it’s some- 
thing suffering pain and needing help maybe. Let’s 
call out.” 

Acting on this suggestion both boys shouted to- 
gether and almost instantly a weak answering cry 
came from a dense growth of trees a short distance 
ahead. 

Forgetting their fears the boys hurried forward 
and entered the thicket, and a moment later, were 
bending over a man pinned under a fallen tree. 































































































4 


THE BOYS MAKE A STRANGE FRIEND 149 


That he was an Indian was evident, but he was 
quite different from any Indians the boys had ever 
seen. He was naked, save for a loin cloth of woven 
cotton, his long hair was confined by a narrow band 
of plaited bark and his yellowish brown skin was 
covered with strange blue tattooing. 

But the boys gave little heed to such details at the 
time, for the man was suffering and helpless and 
gazed at the boys with the mute appealing expres- 
sion of a suffering dog. Fred spoke to him in 
Spanish, but the Indian made no reply, and throwing 
down their guns, the boys strove manfully to lift 
the log from across the man's legs. Their united 
strength was insufficient, however, so, cutting stout 
poles for levers, the two pried and lifted the log 
and placed blocks beneath it. By the time this was 
accomplished the Indian had fainted and Fred and 
Rob dragged his inert form from beneath the fallen 
tree. Their training under Doctor Abbott and their 
scout knowledge of first aid was now of the greatest 
value, for while no bones were broken, still the flesh 
was swollen, bruised and torn. Before the boys had 
finished bathing and cleansing the wounds, the In- 
dian had regained consciousness and watched the 
two with the greatest interest and curiosity as they 
skilfully bandaged and bound up the injured limbs 
with antiseptics and salves from their pocket-emer- 
gency kits. Then, when the boys had done, the 


150 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


Indian spoke for the first time, muttering a few 
words of thanks in broken Spanish. 

Fred plied him with questions; asking who he 
was, where he lived and how he happened to meet 
with the accident, to all of which the man replied 
by shaking his head and repeating, “No entiendo,” 
(I don’t understand), until at last, Fred gave up in 
despair. 

Then, to the boys’ amazement, the man rose 
quickly to his feet, hobbled and limped towards the 
fallen tree, and reaching down, picked up a power- 
ful bow and several arrows which had escaped the 
boys’ notice. 

“I wonder if he’s going off,” exclaimed Fred. 
“I shouldn’t think he could walk a dozen yards. He 
is a queer chap. I’ll bet he understood Spanish all 
right, too.” 

“Look what he’s doing,” cried Rob. “See, he’s 
stringing his bow. You don’t suppose he’ll attack 
us do you ?” 

“Nonsense. Even a savage would not be so un- 
grateful,” replied Fred. “Besides,” he added, “he 
knows we have guns and he isn’t a wild Indian 
anyway.” 

But while he spoke bravely and confidently, there 
was a note of doubt in his will and both boys 
were relieved when the Indian unstrung his bow 
and limped back to where the two were standing. 
Removing the string of teeth and beads about his 


THE BOYS MAKE A STRANGE FRIEND 151 


neck he drew off two of the ornaments and handed 
one to each boy. Pointing to the bits of stone and 
then to himself he smiled, and with expressive ges- 
tures, spoke in a mixture of Spanish and his own 
dialect. 

'‘What’s he saying?” asked Rob. 

“I don’t understand all he says,” replied Fred, 
"but I can make sense out of it. I think he’s trying 
to tell us that he’s a chief or something of the sort 
and that these things he’s given us will make his 
people treat us as friends — sort of primitive pass- 
ports I expect.” 

"They don’t look like much,” declared Rob, as he 
examined the bit of green stone in his hand, 
"Hello!” he exclaimed, "they’re covered with carv- 
ings on one side and I do believe — yes — they’re in- 
tended to represent some animal. Look, Fred, 
they’re really little stone images.” 

"You’re right,” agreed Fred, as he examined his 
own stone. "I didn’t notice it before, I thought they 
were just rough beads.” 

"And they’re alike as two peas,” added Rob, as 
the two compared the little ornaments. 

Their interest aroused, the boys’ attention was 
concentrated on the curious stones for a few min- 
utes and when they looked up again their faces as- 
sumed an expression of blank amazement and the 
words of thanks on their lips changed to involuntary 
exclamations of surprise. The Indian had vanished ! 


152 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


For a bit, the boys were utterly dumbfounded. 
“He must be hiding," declared Fred. ‘Til bet he's 
having a lot of fun over our surprise." 

“I don't see how he could have moved without 
our seeing or hearing him," cried Rob, “and with 
his bad legs, too. Why, we didn’t take our eyes off 
him for more than a second and he was standing 
within a yard of us. It’s the most mysterious thing 
I ever knew." 

But, impossible as it seemed, there could be no 
question that the Indian had disappeared and a care- 
ful search failed to reveal any sign of him, or even 
of his footprints. 

“Well, he’s gone at all events,” admitted Fred, at 
last. “If he’s hiding, it’s because he doesn’t want 
to be found and there’s no use hunting. It’s time 
we started back anyway." 

As the two boys slowly retraced their way by 
means of the marks they had made, their thoughts 
and conversation were all of the Indian and his 
strange disappearance and of the green stone images. 
Indeed, the boys repeatedly drew the stones from 
their pockets and examined them to be sure they too 
had not faded away for, as Fred said, “If it wasn’t 
for the stones the whole thing would be un- 
believable." 

Mr. Grayson was intensely interested in the boys’ 
story and he examined the stones with the most 
minute care. 


THE BOYS MAKE A STRANGE FRIEND 153 


“They are totally distinct from anything I've ever 
seen,” he announced. “The carving represents the 
snake-headed god which is so commonly found on 
many of the prehistoric ruins, especially at Copan in 
Honduras, while the inscriptions are picturegraphs 
or hieroglyphs similar to those of Copan and 
which have never been deciphered. The stone is 
jade and probably came originally from Asia, as it 
is not known to occur in America. I expect your 
Indian friend found the stones in some ruin and 
looked upon them as charms or fetishes. He may 
know of some undiscovered ruins. Did you notice 
if he had any more of these on his necklace?” 

But neither of the boys could answer this question 
for they had given little heed to the ornaments worn 
by the Indian. 

“Fd like to talk to that Indian,” declared Mr. 
Grayson. “I believe Fll try to follow this trail; no 
doubt he went directly back to his camp or village.” 

His decision made, Mr. Grayson lost no time in 
acting upon it, and leaving the accumulated speci- 
mens, and most of the outfit, in charge of the na- 
tives, he at once started into the forest accompanied 
by the two boys. 

There was no difficulty in following the boys' 
blazed trail to the spot where the Indian had been 
found, but they searched for a long time in vain for 
signs of the Indian's track. In fact, they were 
about to give up in despair when Rob discovered 


154 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


a footprint on a moss-covered log. Slowly and with 
the greatest difficulty the trail was followed, for the 
Indian had evidently tried to hide his tracks and 
had picked his way over fallen trees and across roots 
and carefully avoiding stepping on any soft earth 
or muddy spots. 

Then, when half a mile or more had been covered, 
the tracks joined a well-marked path and the party 
hurried forward. Like all Indian trails, the path- 
way wound and twisted about in a most erratic 
manner, crossing streams, encircling hills, zigzag- 
ging back and forth, and frequently doubling on it- 
self, until the boys and their companion lost all sense 
of direction. But they gave little heed to this, con- 
fident that they could retrace their steps along the 
trail. 

Several miles had been traveled and no sign of 
Indians heard or seen when, on mounting a low hill, 
they came suddenly upon a small clearing in the 
center of which was an Indian house. 

It was little more than a thatched shed and in its 
shelter a woman was busily at work over a fire, 
while in a hammock, a man was reclining. At sight 
of the strangers, the woman uttered a startled cry 
and. like a flash, dove into the nearby bushes, while 
the man sprang from his hammock and seized a bow 
and arrows. But the next instant he dropped his 
weapons, called a few words to the concealed 


THE BOYS MAKE A STRANGE FRIEND 1 55 


woman and limped towards the boys with a grin of 
recognition ; he was the Indian the boys had rescued. 

At first he was reticent and merely muttered 
broken Spanish, but when Mr. Grayson spoke to 
him in his own dialect, his face brightened and he 
spoke freely. The woman too, now that she realized 
the visitors were friends, returned to the camp and 
resumed her cooking, while the boys and Mr. Gray- 
son made themselves comfortable in hammocks 
slung for them by their Indian host. 

Much to Mr. Grayson's satisfaction, his first hasty 
glance had assured him that there was still another 
of the carved jade images on the Indian’s necklace. 
But the scientist knew the Indian character far too 
well to mention the object of his visit at once, and 
not until presents had been given and food and drink 
accepted by the visitors did he broach the matter 
of the jades. 

Much to his surprise, the Indian showed no 
hesitation about speaking of the ornaments, al- 
though he refused to part with the one he wore, or 
even to remove it for Mr. Grayson to examine. 
According to his story, he had obtained the jades 
from another tribe who dwelt in the depths of the 
forest further south. These Indians, he averred, 
were hostile to all outsiders, but owing to a service 
he had rendered them he had been permitted to 
leave their territory and had been given the three 
green stones. These, he declared, were charms 


156 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


which would protect their owners from all harm, 
and, in proof of this, he referred to the timely ar- 
rival of the boys when he had been pinned under 
the log, for with Indian superstition, he attributed 
this to the supernatural power of the jade talismans. 

But when Mr. Grayson expressed his wish to visit 
the strange denizens of the unexplored forest the 
Indian insisted it was not to be thought of. Never, 
he said, had a white man reached their country and 
lived to return and no Indians would dare to enter 
the hostiles’ district knowingly. They were savages, 
he explained, and used poisons and witchcraft and 
dwelt in a stone village surrounded by great moun- 
tains and deep rivers and protected by spirits. Much 
of his tale was evidently superstition, but there could 
be no doubt that some unknown tribe did exist to 
the south and the more he told of these people the 
more Mr. Grayson wished to visit them. 

But no offer, no promise, would induce the In- 
dian to guide him to them. Indeed, he insisted he 
did not know the way, and that when he had come 
away he had been led blindfolded and carried in a 
canoe for many miles and could not return, even 
if he was willing to do so. 

Mr. Grayson, suspecting this was but an excuse, 
asked him how he had reached the hostile tribe in 
the first place. To this, he replied that he had come 
upon a party in the forest and had been taken a 
prisoner to their town by hidden ways; that they 


THE BOYS MAKE A STRANGE FRIEND 157 


had planned to sacrifice him on a “stone table,” but 
that his life had been spared because he had saved 
the chief’s daughter from death by a snake bite, for 
which he possessed an antidote, and that the chief 
in person had given him the charms and had ordered 
him set free. 

“It’s a mighty interesting tale,” Mr. Grayson re- 
marked to the boys. “Of course, it may not be true, 
and no doubt there’s a lot of nonsense in it; these 
Indians love to elaborate and exaggerate ; but in the 
main it’s much the same as other stories I’ve heard 
of these unknown people, and the fact that he has 
the stones is evidence in favor of his story. But it’s 
no use trying to wheedle him into acting as a guide ; 
he’s too superstitious, or else there really is danger, 
and perhaps it’s all for the best after all. I wouldn’t 
dare to take any risks with you boys and I don’t 
like to leave you to go back.to civilzation alone.” 

“Well, in that case I’m glad you can’t go,” de- 
clared Fred. “We’d feel mighty disappointed if 
you went without us.” 

As there was nothing to be gained and no ad- 
ditional information could be obtained, Mr. Gray- 
son announced that they would spend the night with 
the Indians and return to the camp the next morn- 
ing, and the boys, tired out with their day’s tramp- 
ing through the forest, were glad indeed to tumble 
into their hammocks after a hearty meal. 



HAPTER 




A Surprising Discovery 

F RED was the first to awake the following 
morning, and as he glanced drowsily about 
the hut, he could scarce believe his eyes, for 
there were but three hammocks swinging from the 
rafters and the Indian and his wife were nowhere 
to be seen. 

But Mr. Grayson showed little surprise at the 
mysterious disappearance of the Indians. “They 
are shy people,” he said, “and I have frequently 
known them to slip off in this way. Moreover, this 
is merely a temporary hunting camp and not a place 
of residence. Very likely they had planned to leave 
before now and were only delayed by the man’s 
accident. They usually leave before daybreak and 
would not dream of disturbing us in order to say 
good-by. It doesn’t make the least difference any 
way — as long your Indian friend had given us all 
the information he could and had refused to guide 
us to the other tribe.” 


158 


A SURPRISING DISCOVERY 


15D 


Breakfast over, the three prepared to return to 
their camp in the valley, but as they reached the 
encircling forest they hesitated. 

“I don’t see any path,” exclaimed Fred in puzzled 
tones. 

Rob looked about and searched the nearby bush 
with his gaze. ‘‘I’m sure it was just here that we 
came into the clearing,” he declared. 

“I think it was more to the right,” said Fred. 

Mr. Grayson had turned and was sighting back 
towards the hut. “I’m positive it was not here,” 
he announced. “As we came in sight of the camp 
we could see the woman cooking. From this spot 
she would be hidden by the tree yonder. It must 
have been further to the right, as Fred says.” 

Skirting the edge of the woods, the three searched 
carefully for the trail, frequently glancing towards 
the hut to take their bearings and in a short time 
Fred found a path leading into the forest. 

“We did get turned around,” he exclaimed. “7 
should have said the path was on the opposite side 
of the clearing.” 

“That shows how easy it is for a person to go 
astray in a strange place,” said Mr. Grayson. “We 
were so interested in finding the Indians that we 
neglected to note our surroundings.” 

“Well, we can’t have any more trouble,” remarked 
Rob confidently. “All we’ve to do now is to follow 
the trail.” 


160 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


For some time they walked rapidly along the well- 
marked pathway and then Fred, who was in ad- 
vance, halted. “The trail forks here,” he announced, 
“Do we go to right or left?” 

Mr. Grayson pondered a moment. “To the right, 
I believe,” he said and added, “but we’d best look 
for footprints, I didn’t notice the fork when we 
came in.” 

But it was a difficult matter to distinguish any 
footmarks in the dead leaves and it was some time 
before they found some scarcely visible imprints on 
the left-hand trail. 

“That’s further proof of how easy it is to make a 
mistake in the bush,” remarked Mr. Grayson as 
once more the party continued on their way. 

They had traveled for a mile or two along the 
winding path when they came to the banks of a 
small stream. The trail led directly to the water’s 
edge, but no sign of it could be seen on the opposite 
shore. 

“Probably it crosses diagonally,” suggested Mr. 
Grayson. “If we walk a few yards up and down 
stream we’ll pick it up, I expect.” 

“I wonder how we came over it without any 
trouble,” remarked Fred. “As I remember it, we 
followed the trail easily enough yesterday.” 

“I don’t remember this ford either,” said Rob, 
“but we crossed so many streams it’s hard to keep 
them in mind.” 


A SURPRISING DISCOVERY 


161 


“Probably the trail we’ve just left is more easily 
seen from the other side than the one we’re looking 
for,” said Mr. Grayson. “Ah!” he exclaimed. 
“Here it is.” 

Sure enough, a plain well-defined path led into 
the forest a few yards from where they stood and 
in a few moments the stream had been left behind. 
For fully an hour they tramped on and then Mr. 
Grayson, who was leading, stopped beside a vine- 
grown, upright stone. “Boys,” he said, “I’m posi- 
tive we’re on the wrong trail. We cut away a good 
deal of brush and lianas as we came over the path 
yesterday and we haven’t seen a sign of a cut twig 
today. Moreover, the character of the country is 
different. Ever since we left that stream we’ve been 
steadily ascending, whereas, we should have been 
crossing low ridges and gradually descending. But 
here’s something that proves we’re astray ; this stone 
is a carved Stella and I can swear we didn’t pass 
that yesterday.” 

Fred sat down and fanned himself with his hat. 
“Then we’ll have to go all the way back and take 
the other fork,” he said in dejected tones. 

“And have all this long tramp for nothing,” com- 
plained Rob. 

“There’s no other way,” replied Mr. Grayson. 
“We’ll have a little rest,” he added, “and meantime, 
I’ll examine this stella and then we’ll go back and 
try the other trail. I’m awfully sorry, boys, for I 


m THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


should have taken better note of the trail; but I 
didn’t dream we’d have the least difficulty.” 

“Oh, it wasn’t your fault,” declared Fred, “We’re 
Scouts you know, and we ought to keep track of 
such things, but I’m beginning to realize we’ve an 
awful lot to learn yet.” 

“It’s the second time we’ve been lost,” muttered 
Rob. “We must be regular chumps.” 

“We’re scarcely lost yet,” said Mr. Grayson. “We 
can always find our way back by the path, and 
personally, I’m glad we did go wrong, for this Stella 
is most interesting.” As he spoke he was busy 
clearing away the vines and brush about the stone 
and soon disclosed the grotesque carvings which 
covered the monolith on all sides. The boys at once 
became interested and plied their friend with ques- 
tions as to the meaning of the figures, how the stone 
came in the forest and why it had been placed there. 

“No one knows who erected these monuments, or 
why,” replied the scientist, “and no one has yet been 
able to decipher the carved hieroglyphs, but they are 
found throughout various portions of Central 
America and are usually attributed to the same race 
whose graves we opened. Look, boys; here’s the 
snake-headed god which appears on your stones.” 
He pointed to one of the figures graven on the stone 
pillar and which the boys at once recognized. 

While the boys examined the stone Mr. Grayson 
busied himself making sketches and measurements, 


A SURPRISING DISCOVERY 


163 


and having completed this, he suggested that they 
should retrace their way to the fork in the trail. 

But in clearing the brush and vines from the Stella 
the trail had accidentally been obliterated and it was 
some little time before the refuse was removed and 
the pathway found. 

An hour later, Mr. Grayson stopped abruptly and 
uttered a sharp exclamation of surprise. A few 
yards ahead a carved gray stone stood upright 
among a litter of freshly cut foliage. They had 
come back to the Stella ! 

For a moment all were silent, too surprised and 
confused to speak. 

“I guess we are lost now,” ejaculated Fred at 
last. 

“And all this hard walk for nothing,” lamented 
Rob. 

“I can’t imagine how this happened,” said Mr. 
Grayson in a puzzled tone, “We didn’t leave the 
trail or follow a branch and yet here we are back 
again when we should be at the stream. There must 
be two paths leading from this place and we took the 
wrong one.” 

A short search proved this was the case, and hav- 
ing found the other path, the three again turned 
away from the ancient monument. At last Mr. 
Grayson halted once more. “There’s no use in go- 
ing further,” he announced. “This is not the trail 


164 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


we followed from the stream. Somehow or other 
we’ve taken the wrong track again.” 

“I knew we were lost,” declared Fred, resignedly. 

‘There must be a regular maze of trails,” con- 
tinued Mr. Grayson, “and unwittingly we’ve turned 
off somewhere.” 

“Well, what’s to be done now?” queried Fred. 
“We can’t go on tramping about in the forest for- 
ever.” 

“And I’m nigh starved already,” declared Rob. 

“I think the first thing to do is to eat,” replied 
Mr. Grayson. “Then we’ll have to use all our skill 
and experience trying to work our way out of our 
dilemma, regardless of trails.” 

This seemed good advice, and as they ate, the 
three discussed the situation and offered suggestions. 

“It’s too bad we didn’t bring our compasses 
along,” said Rob. “But I never expected we’d need 
them ; we haven’t been carrying them for a long 
time.” 

“They wouldn’t be much use now,” said Fred, 
“that is,” he added, “unless we’d watched them and 
had noted the directions we traveled.” 

“Well, we could travel a straight line with them 
anyway,” replied Rob, “and if we go straight we 
must come out somewhere.” 

“And starve to death in the meantime,” scoffed 
Fred. “We’ve just enough food for this meal.” 


A SURPRISING DISCOVERY 


165 


‘‘We’ve our guns, haven’t we?” maintained Rob. 
“What’s the reason we can’t eat game?” 

“The compasses would undoubtedly prove use- 
ful,” said Mr. Grayson, “but it would be hopeless 
to attempt tramping through the forest in a straight 
line. We would be compelled to cut our way and 
might come to mountains or streams which we 
could not cross. No, the only solution is to follow 
the trails, — selecting these which appear to be Tie 
newest and most frequented, — until we reach an 
Indian camp or meet an Indian. These are all 
Indian trails and where there are trails there are 
men and camps; we are certain to find a camp or 
village in a few hours, provided we follow one path 
and do not become sidetracked. We won’t starve, 
— don’t worry on that score, — for we can kill 
monkeys and birds even if we see no large game. 
Remember the greatest peril when one is lost is 
in becoming frightened and losing one’s head. Now, 
boys, let’s keep our eyes open and go carefully and 
see if we can’t work out of this. Just pretend we’re 
real scouts trailing Indians and turn our predica- 
ment into a game.” 

Thus cheering and encouraging the boys, and 
making light of their plight, although inwardly 
greatly worried, Mr. Grayson led the way, examin- 
ing the narrow trail with minute care, carefully 
watching for diverging paths and ever keeping a 
lookout for possible game. That they would not 


166 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


suffer from hunger was soon apparent for Rob shot 
a fine curassow, and toucans, macaws and various 
other birds were abundant, while game tracks were 
frequently seen. 

For some time they tramped steadily onward and 
then the sound of running water reached their ears 
and a few rods further on they came forth from 
the forest to the banks of a rapidly flowing stream 
with a charming cataract close at hand. 

“This helps us,” announced Mr. Grayson as the 
three halted and threw themselves down to rest in 
the shade. “If we find the trail too long we can 
always follow this stream, it’s certain to lead us to 
one of the larger rivers and the settlements. Now 
what do you say to a good meal before we start 
on?” 

“That suits me,” declared Rob, adding, “I'd 
rather carry this curassow in my stomach than on 
my shoulders.” 

In a short time a fire was built and the bird was 
broiling over the coals. As they waited for the 
curassow to cook, Fred suggested a bath in the 
stream, and followed by Rob, started for a tranquil 
pool bordered by a sandy beach at the foot of the 
falls. 

Suddenly he stopped, uttered a cry of surprise 
and stood staring fixedly at the sand before him. 

“What do you see?” cried Rob, hurrying up; but 


A SURPRISING DISCOVERY 


167 


before Fred could reply Rob also halted and stared 
with unbelieving eyes at the sand. 

“What on earth is the trouble with you boys?” 
exclaimed Mr. Grayson as he hurried towards the 
two. “You look as if you’d seen a ghost.” 

“Don’t — don’t you see it?” cried Fred in troubled, 
half-frightened tones and pointing to the firm, 
smooth sand before him. 

“Hello! Tracks, eh,” exclaimed Mr. Grayson. 
“Well, there must be people about; but you needn’t 
be so startled. You act like Robinson Crusoe when 
he found the footprints on his island.” 

And then, ere the boys could speak, the import 
of the tracks dawned upon him and he uttered a low 
whistle of amazement. 

Mingled with the human footprints were the 
marks of a cloven foot ! 



Prisoners 


F OR a space they stood speechless, staring with 
unbelieving eyes at the unmistakable foot- 
prints ; too utterly astounded to utter a word 
and scarcely crediting their senses. But while filled 
with wonder and amazement at their discovery, yet 
the boys felt none of that nameless dread and terror 
which the track of the cloven foot had caused when 
they first saw it beside the body of Old Ben. 

“IPs the de’il’s track again,” exclaimed Rob at 
last. 

“You mean the Obeah man’s,” corrected Fred in 
a low voice, “but what do you suppose he’s doing 
way over here ?” 

Mr. Grayson shook his head. “Perhaps these 
tracks were left by the same man who made those 
you told me about,” he said, “but it’s not impossible 
that there may be others with a similar deformed 
foot, perhaps an Indian. It doesn’t seem possible 
that a semi-cripple could have wandered all the way 
168 



PRISONERS 


169 


from the Gold Road to this out-of-the-way spot. 
At any rate, it proves there’s a trail leading some- 
where and that a village or camp must lie within 
walking distance.” 

‘Tm not too keen on finding this chap’s camp,” 
declared Fred. “He’s a murderer you know.” 

“We don’t know if he is the murderer of your 
hermit friend,” Mr. Grayson reminded him, “and,” 
he added, “if he is, he has no reason to injure us. 
Besides, we’re armed and are three to one. Any- 
way, the chances are we’ll find Indians; if your 
friend of the Gold Road is about he’s not likely to 
be roaming the bush where nobody lives. On the 
whole, however, I don’t believe these tracks were 
made by that chap.” 

“Well,” said Rob, “if ’tis yon de’il of the Gold 
Road he must ha’ walked here, — bad foot an’ all, 
an’ I’m minded we can walk out where he’s walked 
in.” 

“Right you are,” exclaimed the scientist with a 
laugh. “Come, boys, we’ll eat lunch and then search 
for the trail of the cloven foot.” 

While the boys would not acknowledge they were 
afraid, yet, as they ate, they could not avoid casting 
furtive glances at the silent, mysterious forest nor 
restrain a nervous start whenever a falling fruit or 
twig pattered to earth from the tree tops, and both 
boys kept their guns loaded and within easy reach. 

But nothing disturbed them, no unusual sound 


170 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


was heard, and lunch over, a very short search re- 
vealed the trail leading into the bush from the op- 
posite side of the stream. 

All through the afternoon they trudged along the 
pathway, which was well marked and evidently 
often traveled, and camping time found the three 
still upon the trail with no sign of Indian huts or 
villages visible. 

Between the roots of a giant tree they constructed 
a rude shelter and satisfied their appetites on roasted 
sloth. To the boys, tired out with their all day 
tramp, a bed of palm leaves on the earth seemed 
luxury, and scarcely had they finished their meal, 
ere all three were sleeping soundly. 

Undisturbed they slumbered and the sun was high 
in the heavens when Rob awoke, although the forest 
was still in semi-darkness. Yawning and stretching 
himself Rob rose from his rude bed and glanced 
about, hoping to see some creature which would pro- 
vide a breakfast, for all about, the patter of falling 
seeds and bits of fruit spoke of the presence of 
live things feeding in the tree tops, while, from 
every side, issued the cries, calls and songs of in- 
numerable birds and animals. To Rob, many of 
these were familiar; the hoarse, barking yelps of 
toucans; the screams of parrots and macaws; the 
chattering of monkeys and the tapping of giant 
woodpeckers, while from afar, came the booming 
roar of a troop of howling monkeys. Then, from 


PRISONERS 


171 


a short distance to the right, issued the clattering 
cry of a curassow, and grasping his gun, Rob 
stepped cautiously along the trail, his gaze fixed on 
the upper branches of the trees and scanning each 
limb and mass of leaves for a glimpse of the big 
turkey-like birds. 

Before he had traveled fifty yards, he glimpsed 
them, feeding in a tree top, and instantly the roar 
of his gun echoed like thunder through the forest. 
At the report, two of the curassows came crash- 
ing to the earth, and elated at his success, Rob 
rushed forward. 

The first bird was quite dead, and picking it up, 
the boy hurried after the second, which, badly 
wounded, had managed to flutter into a small open 
space surrounded by dense brush and vines. Forc- 
ing his way through this barrier Rob stooped to 
grasp the wounded bird. The next instant he had 
forgotten all about the curassow and stood with 
open mouth staring at the muddy earth, for there, 
plain and unmistakable were the marks of the 
cloven foot! Then the enquiring shouts of his 
comrades broke the spell, and hastily securing his 
game, Rob hurried from the spot and regained the 
camp. 

And as he rejoined his companions his own dis- 
covery was forgotten, for everywhere about the 
camp were the same weird footprints and Fred, in 
excited tones, announced that his gun and cartridges 


172 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


were missing and that Mr. Grayson’s notebook 
had been rummaged and its contents strewn upon 
the ground. There was but one explanation pos- 
sible: the cloven-footed man had visited the camp 
while they slept! And as realization of this was 
forced upon them the boys shivered and their scalps 
tingled, for the thought of lying asleep and helpless 
while the mysterious, unknown being stood over 
them and ransacked their belongings was enough 
to shake the stoutest nerves. 

“I don’t think there’s anything missing, aside 
from Fred’s gun and cartridges,” said Mr. Gray- 
son, as he rearranged his scattered belongings. 

‘Well, that’s bad enough,” declared Fred. “If 
we don’t get out of here soon we’ll starve to death. 
How many shells have you, Rob?” 

“Twenty-two,” replied Rob, counting the cart- 
ridges in his pockets. 

“And now he’s armed he can attack us at any 
time,” continued Fred. “We were fools not to have 
kept watch last night.” 

“If he’d wanted to harm us he could easily have 
done so while we slept,” said Mr. Grayson. “I 
don’t think we need fear him. He probably wanted 
your gun to secure game; but I can’t understand 
why he went through my papers, — unless he’s lost 
and was searching for a map. We should have 
kept a watch as you say, Fred; but it’s no use 
regretting it now. We must trust to getting to 


PRISONERS 


173 


civilization or an Indian settlement before our am- 
munition gives out. Thanks to Rob we’ve enough 
food for to-day at any rate.” 

“Ugh! It makes me goosefleshy to think that 
chap’s about,” exclaimed Rob. “For all we know, 
he may be watching us from some hiding place 
now.” 

“More likely he’s put as much space between us 
and himself as possible,” replied the scientist, “now 
he has the gun and knows we’ve nothing else of 
value to him he’ll not linger about here.” 

But despite Mr. Grayson’s reassuring words, the 
boys could not overcome the feeling that the mys- 
terious being with the cloven foot was watching 
their every movement, and they ate their breakfast 
of broiled curassow hurriedly and with nerves 
atingle, and all three felt relieved when they once 
more set forth on their journey. 

For hour after hour they plodded on, and while 
at first the boys continually glanced apprehensively 
behind, as if expecting to see their midnight visitor 
on their trail, yet, as mile after mile was covered 
and no signs of the cloven footprint were seen, 
their nervousness wore off and their only thoughts 
were of what might lie ahead. 

About noonday they reached a little glade beside 
a stream and here they halted for a rest and lunch. 

“It’s a long, long way to Tipperary,” laughed 
Fred as he threw himself down in the shade. “I 


174 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


wonder if we’ll ever come to ” But his sentence 

was never finished; the words froze on his lips and 
with wondering, staring eyes and dropping jaw he 
sat gazing, speechless, at the forest. 

Rob and Mr. Grayson glanced towards him en- 
quiringly and instantly their faces, too, assumed 
the same expression of incredulous amazement and 
fear. At the edge of the glade stood two naked 
Indians, each with bent bow and poised arrow! 

Involuntarily Rob reached towards his gun, but 
as he turned, a low cry escaped from his lips and 
his hand dropped to his side. Behind him were 
three more savages. They were surrounded and 
completely at the mercy of the Indians. 

The attitudes of the savages left no doubt as to 
their hostility and each second the boys expected 
to hear the twang of a bowstring and to feel the 
deadly arrow piercing their flesh, and for what 
seemed hours, they remained motionless, silent, wait- 
ing for the end. 

Then at last Mr. Grayson spoke. “Perhaps they 
dont intend to harm us,” he whispered. “Very 
likely they’re as much afraid of us as we are of 
them. I doubt if they’ve ever seen a white man 
before.” 

Then, slowly raising his right hand with palm 
outward in the world-wide peace sign, he spoke to 
the Indians in the Talamanca dialect. 

No reply was made, no indication given that his 


PRISONERS 


175 


words were understood, but the tense bows were 
slightly relaxed and without a sound the savages 
stepped from the shadow of the forest and ad- 
vanced towards the boys and their companion. 

And now that the Indians were in the full light, 
the boys' fear partly gave place to wonder and Mr. 
Grayson uttered an ejaculation of amazement, for 
the silent, ominous figures were utterly unlike any- 
thing he had ever seen. Tall, herculean in build, clad 
only in loin cloths, with naked bodies painted with 
black, white and scarlet, and with crowns of gaudy 
feathers on their heads they were strikingly savage 
and awe inspiring; but it was not this which had 
called forth Mr. Grayson’s exclamation. Their 
skins, where free from paint, were a light olive ; their 
hair, which fell in long plaits over each shoulder, 
was golden red and their eyes were blue! All this 
the three noted at a glance and then, ere they fully 
realized what had happened, their arms were seized 
from behind, they were thrown violently to the 
ground and in a moment had been bound and 
wrapped in turn after turn of tough, rope-like vines. 

Dazed and helpless they lay there while over 
them towered the five savages who regarded their 
victims with about as much concern as if they had 
been three trussed pigs. 

Fred was the first to regain his breath sufficiently 
to speak. “Well, we’ve found Indians,” lie re- 
marked tersely. 


176 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“An’ a muckle welcome they gi’e us,” rejoined 
Rob bitterly. “I ha’ me suspeecions they’ll be spit- 
tin’ us o’er yon fire an’ deevourin’ us to show ap- 
preciation o’ the honor o’ our veesit the nonce.” 

“They are a bit rough,” admitted Mr. Grayson 
with a wry smile, “but I don’t think they’re really 
cannibals. I suspect they’re members of the^tribe 
your Indian friend mentioned. They’re unlike any 
people I’ve ever seen and I don’t believe they are 
Indians. I’d gladly stand a lot more than we have 
for the sake of seeing them.” 

“They may be interesting for you,” muttered 
Fred, “but for my part I’d be more interested in 
seeing them clear out or cut these ropes. Do you 
suppose they’re going to kill us? Remember what 
that chap said about killing people on a ‘stone 
table.’ ” 

But before Mr. Grayson could reply the savages 
reached down, and grasping their prisoners by the 
shoulders, jerked them to their feet. As they did 
so, a small object dropped from Fred’s pocket, and, 
with a swift motion, an Indian stooped and seized 
it and the next instant gave a sharp cry of mingled 
terror and surprise. And then a strange thing hap- 
pened for, with a few quick words to his fellows, 
the savage flung himself prostrate at Fred’s feet. 
And at his words, the others, their features ex- 
pressing unspeakable terror, swiftly tore the bonds 


PRISONERS 177 

from their captives and threw themselves grovel- 
ing upon the earth. 

So suddenly had all this taken place that for a 
space neither Mr. Grayson nor the boys could realize 
they were free and stood motionless, uncompre- 
hending, and puzzled at the strange change of 
affairs. 

“It was that green stone,” exclaimed Fred at last. 
“It dropped from my pocket and one of these fel- 
lows picked it up. I guess that old Indian wasn't 
yarning after all when he said they’d protect us.” 
The savages had now raised their heads and were 
gazing at Fred with a strange commingling of fear 
and reverence. 

“I say, Fred, you can’t pose as the only high 
Panjandrum,” exclaimed Rob, and thrusting his 
hand in his pocket he drew forth his jade image 
and held it up to the Indians’ view. 

Instantly every feather-decked head bobbed down 
to the earth and a sigh-like moan issued from five 
pairs of lips. 

“It’s marvelous,” exclaimed Mr. Grayson. “It’s 
evident that the possession of those jades renders 
you sacred in the eyes of these people. Perhaps 
they’ll enable us to enter their stronghold. I’d give 
anything to study these people and their ways.” 

“We won’t ever get to any place if we stay here 
while these chaps kowtow to us this way,” declared 
Fred. 


178 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“Can’t you make them understand we want to 
get away from here, Mr. Grayson?” enquired Rob. 

“I’ll do my best,” replied the scientist and then, 
as the Indians’ heads were again raised, he spoke 
to them in several of the Central American dialects. 
But the savages made no reply and by the blank 
expression of their faces it was evident that the 
scientist’s words conveyed no meaning to their ears. 

“It’s no use,” declared Mr. Grayson. “I’ve tried 
Guatuso, Talamanca, Kuna and half a dozen other 
dialects. There’s only the sign language left.” 

Then, while the boys looked on with intense in- 
terest, Mr. Grayson commenced to move his hands 
in rapid and seemingly meaningless gestures. For 
an instant, the savages watched him intently and 
then the light of understanding dawned upon their 
features. As Mr. Grayson’s actions ceased the In- 
dian who had seized Fred’s image, and who was 
apparently the leader of the band, stepped forward 
and began to wiggle his fingers and wave his hands 
in reply. 

“Hurrah!” exclaimed Fred in an undertone. 
“They do understand.” 

“What does he say?” asked Rob as the man’s 
gesticulations ceased. 

“I can’t make it all out,” replied Mr. Grayson. 
“It’s different from any sign language I know, but 
most of it’s clear enough. He says they are a 
hunting party, that the tribe dwells in a city four 


PRISONERS 


179 


sun’s march from here and he begs forgiveness for 
himself and his companions for daring to lay hands 
on our sacred persons.” 

"Well, just tell him to get us out of here and back 
to civilization and well forgive him,” said Fred. 

Mr. Grayson laughed. "I’m afraid you’re asking 
the impossible,” he replied. "I’ll wager these fel- 
lows have never seen civilization or civilized men 
before. Moreover, sign talk has its limitations. 
I’ll do my best, but I’m going to ask him to take us 
to his ‘city.’ From there we should be able to find 
our way, for there must be streams we can follow 
to the coast. Why, boys! you don’t realize what 
this chance encounter means to me. It’s simply 
marvelous. These men are unquestionably mem- 
bers of that strange mythical race I’ve told you 
about and I’m convinced they’re of European blood, 
— perhaps Phoenician, or even surviving descendants 
of the people of Atlantis. A few weeks among them 
may revolutionize the history of America.” 

"I’d just as leave see their old town,” declared 
Fred. "If we’re so sacred in their eyes I suppose 
we’re safe enough.” 

A few moments of sign conversation between Mr. 
Grayson and the Indians — if Indians they could be 
called — followed. 

"It’s hopeless,” announced Mr. Grayson regret- 
fully. "I can’t make him understand our wants and 
neither can I comprehend all he tries to say. He 


180 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


wants us to go with him and I guess the best we 
can do is to follow where he leads. I imagine he’ll 
take us to some settlement anyway.” 

“Anything’s better than stopping here,” declared 
Fred. “Let’s tell him to go ahead.” 

“Hoot mon, we’ve na eaten yet,” Rob reminded 
him. 

“I’d quite forgotten lunch,” laughed the scientist. 
With a few rapid signs he told the Indians the three 
wished to eat before starting off and at a few words 
from their leader two of the men rekindled the neg- 
lected fire and in a short time the party had finished 
their interrupted meal and Mr. Grayson signed to 
the waiting savages that they were ready to pro- 
ceed. 

“Well, we may not know where we’re going but 
we’re on our way,” laughed Fred as the little pro- 
cession left the scene of their adventures and stepped 
into the forest. 

Three of the Indians led the way, behind them 
came Mr. Grayson and the two boys and the remain- 
ing savages brought up the rear. For a few miles 
they followed a well marked trail and then, abandon- 
ing the pathway, their guides stepped confidently 
into the trackless forest. All through the afternoon 
they tramped on, the Indians treading their crooked 
way among the trees and never pausing to halt or 
rest. Then, just as the forest grew dim with ap- 
proaching night, the party came upon a rude shelter 


PRISONERS 


181 


of palm leaves beside a spring. Here they halted, 
and to the boys' surprise, the savages produced sev- 
eral hammocks from some hiding place and in a few 
minutes the odor of broiling meat and the pungent 
smell of smoke filled the shadowy forest. 

The following day was but a repetition of the 
first and camp was made beside a swift flowing 
stream. While two of the Indians prepared the 
evening meal the others slipped out of sight and a 
few minutes later reappeared paddling three dugout 
canoes which were moored close to the camp. It 
was evident that the next stage of the journey was 
to be by water and the boys were rejoiced at the 
promised relief from steady tramping. Having se- 
cured their craft the Indians joined their companions 
beside the fire and a short conversation followed. 
Then, rising, they gathered up their weapons, 
wrapped some food in a bundle with leaves, and 
stepping into one of the canoes, paddled quickly up 
the river and out of sight. 

“I wonder where they've gone," exclaimed Fred. 

Mr. Grayson shook his head. “I haven't any 
idea," he replied, “but I’ll try to find out." 

Turning to the chief he made a series of signs 
to which the other replied in the same manner. 

“He says they've gone ahead to let his people 
know we’re coming," explained the scientist. “He 
tells us the ‘city’ is two days' journey by water and 


182 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


two more through the bush. We're to follow with 
him and the other canoe to-morrow morning.” 

“Well, I'm mighty glad we’ll have two days of 
rest, at any rate,” declared Rob. 

“Yes, I’ve had enough hiking to suit me,” agreed 
Fred. “I wonder how they’ll treat us in that city 
of theirs — you don’t think they’ll keep us prisoners 
do you Mr. Grayson?” 

“No,” replied the scientist, “I believe they’ll con- 
sider us as friends and guests, judging by the actions 
of these men.” Then, after a moment’s pause, he 
added, “Nevertheless, if we could elude these chaps 
I’d do so. I’ve been thinking over the matter and 
while I’d give a great deal to visit their people and 
study them I don’t feel as if I’ve a right to run 
risks with you boys, one never can tell what might 
happen among unknown savages. But it can’t he 
helped, we must go with them, willy-nilly.” 

“There are only two of them now,” remarked 
Fred suggestively. 

“Very true,” admitted Mr. Grayson. “But we 
don’t know where the others may be. Besides, in 
order to overcome these we’d have to shoot them, 
perhaps, and so far they’ve shown us nothing but 
kindness.” 

“Perhaps they’d let us go without any trouble, 
if we asked them,” said Rob. 

“Possibly,” replied Mr. Grayson. “But, even so, 


PRISONERS 


183 


we'd be no better off. We have no idea how to get 
to civilization." 

“We could take a canoe and go down river," 
declared Fred. “We’d be sure to come out at the 
seacoast somewhere." 

“And might lose our lives in falls or starve to 
death on the way," replied the scientist. “No," he 
continued, “we are safer with these people than 
trying to win our way out alone. Moreover, I have 
hopes of inducing some of them to guide us out 
of the forest to the settlements or near them." 

“Yes, I suppose you’re right,” agreed Fred. 
“Anyhow, there’s no use worrying. I’m going to 
bed." The others followed his example and soon all 
three were sleeping as soundly as though in their 
beds at home. 

A sharp cry aroused the boys from a deep slum- 
ber. Day had dawned and by the dim light the boys 
saw the two Indians standing by the riverside and 
gesticulating and talking excitedly. Springing from 
their hammocks the three hurried towards the 
savages. 

“Hello!" exclaimed Mr. Grayson as he came 
within sight of the water’s edge, “one of the canoes 
is missing." 

But the boys paid little heed to his words for 
both had halted and stood gazing at the soft damp 
ground. Once more the track of the cloven foot 
confronted them ! Almost at the same instant the 


184 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


two Indians caught sight of the weird footprints 
and, with a terrified yell of superstitious fear, they 
turned, and leaping into the remaining canoe, pad- 
died frantically from shore. 

In vain Mr. Grayson shouted and waved his arms 
in signals for the men to return. Mortal fear of the 
supernatural had gripped them and, without even 
looking back, they drove their craft up the stream 
and in a moment had vanished from sight beyond 
the wooded shores. 

“That’s a nice way to leave us,” ejaculated Rob, 
all thoughts of the mysterious prowler driven from 
him by the Indians’ action. 

“Perhaps they’ll come back after they recover 
from their fright,” suggested Fred. 

“Possibly,” replied Mr. Grayson. “But I don’t 
think so. Those savages are terror stricken and, 
moreover, they probably associate us with the foot- 
prints. There’s been a lot that’s seemed mysterious 
to them, — the jade images and all, — and they’ll not 
return to such an uncanny spot as this if they can 
help it.” 

“Well, we were wondering how we could evade 
them and they’ve solved the puzzle for us,” said 
Fred. “There’s nothing to prevent us from going 
down the river now.” 

“Except that we haven’t any boat,” Rob reminded 
him. 


PRISONERS 


185 


“That’s so,” admitted Fred. “What do you sup- 
pose became of the other boat, Mr. Grayson?” 

“I expect your Obeah man friend took it,” re- 
plied the scientist. “He’s probably been following us 
for some time, or at least watching our movements, 
and now, having a gun and a canoe, he’s probably 
speeding down stream as fast as he can.” 

“I’d like to know why he’s so interested in us,” 
mused Fred. “If he wanted to injure or rob us he’s 
had plenty of chances. Ugh! it makes me shiver 
to think of him hanging about and watching us and 
helping himself to anything he wanted.” 

“It’s a puzzle for which I have no answer,” re- 
plied Mr. Grayson, “but I imagine he was lost and 
has merely kept near us in the hope that we’d even- 
tually lead him out of the forest, then, when he 
thought we had been taken prisoners by the Indians, 
he decided to take matters into his own hands and 
try to find his way by river. However, there’s no 
use wasting time in conjectures, we must bend all our 
energies to getting away from here, although I’m 
sorry we’ll never see that unknown city.” 

“Can’t we build a canoe?” asked Fred. 

“We haven’t the tools, even if we knew how,” 
replied the other, “but possibly we might be able to 
construct a raft of some sort.” 

This seemed the only feasible suggestion, and hav- 
ing eaten their breakfast, the three at once com- 
menced operations. 


186 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


After a short search a number of large Balsa trees 
were found and these were soon felled and dragged 
to the river bank, which was not a difficult task as 
these trees are as soft and light as cork. Then a 
large supply of tough lianas or bush ropes were 
gathered and with these the several sections of trees 
were lashed firmly together. Strong, hard wood 
saplings were then bound across the logs, both above 
and below, and by mid afternoon the crude raft was 
completed. 

* Shoving it into the river the boys were delighted 
to find that it floated high and buoyantly and easily 
supported the weight of all three. As there was no 
reason for remaining longer the raft was pushed 
from shore and the voyage down the river was 
begun. The current was fairly swift and no effort 
was required, save to guide the raft and keep it 
in the center of the stream. The boys thoroughly 
enjoyed the change from tramping and joked and 
laughed as they swept rapidly around bend after 
bend and past mile after mile of unbroken forest. 

Game was fairly abundant and Rob succeeded in 
killing a deer which was swimming the river. At 
sundown the raft was run ashore on a little wooded 
island and the party dined royally on broiled venison. 
The trip was resumed the following morning and 
soon afterwards the raft shot through a series of 
rapids; but there was plenty of water and although 
the craft bumped against several rocks and tossed 


PRISONERS 


187 


about in the broken water, yet the tough lianas held 
and no harm was done. 

“We must keep a sharp lookout/' declared Mr. 
Grayson. “Those rapids didn’t amount to much, 
but at any moment we may meet with dangerous 
falls or cataracts. We must be ready to run the raft 
ashore at an instant’s notice.” 

“How will we be able to go on if we come to 
falls?” asked Fred. 

“If they’re not too dangerous or abrupt we can 
streak the raft through them by means of bush ropes 
and re-embark below, and in case of bad cataracts 
we’ll have to portage around, or even abandon the 
raft and build a new one below the falls.” 

“I hope we don’t find any,” declared Rob. 

He had scarcely ceased speaking when the raft 
swung around a sharp bend and before them the 
river swept straight as a canal between the walls of 
forest to where, less than a quarter of a mile distant, 
it disappeared in a cloud of spray, while the roar 
of a cataract was borne distinctly to their ears. 

Instantly the three upon the raft seized their 
clumsy paddles and exerted every effort to swing 
their craft ashore. But while fully realizing their 
own peril their attention was riveted upon another 
object on the river before them. A dugout canoe 
was speeding towards the cataract and within a hun- 
dred feet of the brink! 



The End of the Obeah Man 


T HE single occupant of the canoe was striving 
frantically to check the mad course of his 
craft, but in vain. Then, in a last desperate 
hope, he cast aside his paddle and, leaping from the 
canoe, plunged into the torrent. 

But he had waited too long; the dugout was al- 
ready at the verge of the cataract and as it reared 
high in air and shot over the brink, the struggling 
swimmer was swept into the resistless maelstrom, 
and with a shriek that rose even above the roar of 
the water, he disappeared in the foaming tumult 
of the falls. 

It had all happened in an instant ; the whole vivid 
drama had been enacted in a flash and, ere the three 
upon the raft had realized what had occurred; be- 
fore they had had time to speak, the whole tragedy 
was over. 

Fred was the first to find his voice. “It was 
1 88 


THE END OF THE OBEAH MAN 189 


awful!” he exclaimed, “and he was a civilized man 
too, he had on clothes.” 

“Paddle ! don’t talk,” snapped Mr. Grayson. 

And paddle they did with straining muscles and 
panting breaths, but the raft was clumsy and un- 
gainly, the paddles were rough and heavy and de- 
spite their utmost efforts, the craft continued to 
sweep steadily down stream and crept towards the 
bank with maddening slowness. 

Louder and louder became the roar of the cata- 
ract, swifter became the current and the boys real- 
ized that in a few brief moments they too would 
meet the fate of the occupant of the canoe. 

Then, with a little jar, the raft struck upon a 
hidden sand bar and for an instant hung motionless. 
“Jump!” shouted Mr. Grayson, “it’s our only 
chance.” 

Without hesitation the two boys plunged into the 
shallow water with their companion while the raft, 
relieved of their weight, floated free and swept 
swiftly towards the cataract. Floundering and 
splashing the three made their way towards dry 
land and while in places the water rose to their arm- 
pits, yet there was little current across the bar, and 
in a few minutes they threw themselves upon the 
rocky shore of the river. 

For a space all were silent, too exhausted, spent 
and breathless to speak. 

“That wa* a close shave,” exclaimed Mr. Gray- 


190 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


son at last. “If it hadn’t been for that bar we’d have 
shared the fate of the chap in the canoe.” 

“I wonder who he was,” remarked Fred. 

“Man! he may be livin’ the nonce,” cried Rob, 
“an’ we a squattin’ here wi’ him sufferin’ below yon 
falls.” 

“That’s true,” agreed Mr. Grayson. “We must 
try to get around the cataract. The poor fellow may 
be wounded but still alive. Come on, boys,” 

It was no easy task to make their way around the 
falls. To force a way through the forest was im- 
possible and, although all three still retained their 
machetes, which were in scabbards at their belts, to 
hew a way through the bush would mean a delay 
which might prove fatal to the injured man, if in- 
deed he had survived. 

To follow the shores seemed the only way but 
this too was a most difficult undertaking. Every- 
where were the jagged broken rocks; jutting from 
the swirling waters, piled in masses, overgrown with 
thorny vines and razor-grass and slippery with moss. 
To make matters worse, great trees and innumerable 
branches, which had been carried down the river 
during floods, had lodged and caught among the 
rocks and had transformed the river’s bank into a 
gigantic chevaux de frise. Leaping from rock to 
rock ; climbing from ledge to ledge ; crawling under 
and over the logs; wading through the shallows; 
slipping, sliding, barking shins and knees, the three 


THE END OF THE OBEAH MAN 191 


worked their way down the stream and past the 
cataract. 

The boys had expected to see a tremendous water- 
fall, a veritable Niagara, but the cataract proved to 
be scarcely sixty feet in height; a churning, angry, 
rock-filled fall, tumbling into a great bowl-like ex- 
panse of tranquil water. Upon the surface of this 
pool floated a number of logs and bits of wreckage. 

“Look, there’s the raft,” cried Fred. 

“Yes, what’s left of it,” agreed Mr. Grayson, 
“but I don’t see any signs of the canoe.” 

“Nor of the man,” added Fred. 

“Hist!” exclaimed Rob. “Did you hear that, — 
a low moanin’ like?” 

The three remained silent, listening intently. For 
an instant there was no sound, save that of the 
water, and then, from somewhere near at hand, came 
the groans of a being in agony. 

Instantly the three commenced searching among 
the tumbled rocks, and in a moment, a shout from 
Mr. Grayson brought the two boys hurrying to him. 
He was bending over the body of a negro caught 
between two jagged rocks at the water’s edge. The 
pitifully grotesque and contorted position of the 
body gave evidence of many broken bones and the 
features were bruised, cut and mutilated ; but a spark 
of life still remained, for the chest rose and fell 
spasmodically and now and then a low moan issued 
from the swollen, bloody lips. 


192 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


All this the boys saw at a glance and then their 
pity gave place to wonder and they stood dumbly 
staring. The man was barefooted and one foot was 
malformed, misshapen, and resembled a cloven hoof. 

“It — it’s the Obeah Man !” exclaimed Fred in awe- 
struck tones. 

“Aye, the de’il wi’ the cloven foot,” whispered 
Rob. 

“I know it,” cried Mr. Grayson. “But that doesn’t 
make any difference. We must do what we can to 
help him. Give a hand, boys, and carry the poor 
chap onto dry land in the shade.” 

Not without some misgivings, the boys helped lift 
the limp and battered body of the negro and, with 
as much care as possible, carried him to a patch of 
smooth sand in the shade of the forest. 

There was little they could do for the injured 
man, but they bound up his worst cuts, placed him 
in a comfortable position and sat silently awaiting 
the end, for the poor fellow was beyond all human 
aid. Indeed, it seemed little short of miraculous 
that he could have survived at all, for there was 
scarce a bone in his body unbroken and he was 
gashed, torn, bruised and cut from head to foot. 

But he was powerfully built and with tremendous 
vitality and died hard. Presently his eyes opened, 
the bloodshot yellow orbs looked enquiringly upon 
those beside him and then, slowly, a look of under- 



He Was Bending Over the Body of a Negro Caught 
Between Two Jagged Rocks at the Water’s Edge 

i93 




/ 


THE END OF THE OBEAH MAN 195 


standing dawned upon him and with a supreme 
effort he managed to speak. 

“M’sieu’s,” he whispered in almost inaudible 
tones. “Me mek to die. M’sieu’s been kind. Look 
M’sieu’s — the map — here — the pouch. It is yours 

— me ” His voice trailed off to nothingness, 

with a last convulsive movement his right hand 
grasped at a cord about his neck, a shiver ran 
through his body and all was over. 

“Poor chap,” murmured Fred after a moment’s 
silence. “I’m sorry for him, even if he was a mur- 
derer.” 

“Aye, and we’ll never know why he followed us,” 
said Rob. 

“He said something about a map,” Mr. Grayson 
reminded them, “and he grasped at the cord about 
his neck. Perhaps we’ll find a solution to the mys- 
tery in the pouch he mentioned.” 

Gently undoing the stiffening fingers, the scientist 
withdrew the cord to which was fastened a small 
pouch or wallet of leather. 

“He said it was ours, so I suppose we needn’t 
hesitate to open it,” said Fred as Mr. Grayson ripped 
the stitches along one edge with his pocket knife. 

Within, was a second covering of soft leather, 
inside of this was a little square of oiled cloth and, 
unwrapping this, Mr. Grayson disclosed a neatly 
folded piece of parchment, yellow with age and 
covered with a tracery of lines and letters. 


196 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


For a space the three gazed at the sheet of parch- 
ment in silence and wonder. Fred was the first to 
break the silence. “Why, it’s the other part of our 
map/’ he cried. “Look here.” Producing the copy 
of the mysterious map from his pocket he spread it 
out beside the fragment from the Obeah man’s 
pouch. 

“There’s no doubt of it,” agreed Mr. Grayson. 
“The lines and words join perfectly and no doubt, 
if you had the original map from the sword hilt, 
the torn edges would fit together as well.” 

“Hurrah ! perhaps we can find the treasure now,” 
cried Rob. 

“You forget we’re lost in the forest and may 
never get out,” said Mr. Grayson. “This is no time 
to think of treasure hunting. Our first duty is to 
bury this man and then strive to reach civilization. 
Remember, we have lost practically all we possessed, 
except our machetes and the gun. In the meantime, 
take good care of the map for I admit that with it 
there is a very good chance of locating the lost mine 
— if we do get out.” 

A shallow grave was scooped in the sand, the dead 
man was buried, a rude cross was placed over the 
grave and the three then proceeded down stream. 

A short distance below the falls they found the 
smashed and broken remains of the canoe, wedged 
among the rocks. 

“Can’t we build another raft?” asked Fred, after 



The Missing Portion of the Precious Document 





















































- 






















































THE END OF THE OBEAH MAN 197 


they had toiled laboriously over the jagged rocks for 
an hour or more. 

“Yes, when we reach fairly smooth water,” re- 
plied Mr. Grayson, “but it would be a waste of time 
to attempt it here, the river’s full of rocks and rapids 
and any raft we could build would soon go to 
pieces.” 

But mile after mile was covered and still the river 
tumbled and roared in foaming rapids among the 
rocks. Camp was made in the shelter of an over- 
hanging mass of rocks and the party dined on a tree- 
duck which Rob had killed. 

As darkness descended on the river, the plaintive 
calls of tinamous and the notes of curassows issued 
from the forest and Rob suggested that they should 
go on a hunt early the next morning, before starting 
down river. Mr. Grayson approved of the plan and 
at daybreak the two boys set forth, Fred cutting the 
way through the dense bush and Rob, with gun 
ready, keeping a sharp lookout for furred or 
feathered game. 

A few hundred feet from the river the forest 
became more open and the boys found little difficulty 
in moving along silently and without cutting a path. 
Presently Rob spied a pair of curassows feeding in 
the tree-tops and with a single shot secured them 
both. 

As the two birds came tumbling to earth and the 
boys rushed forward to pick them up, a small deer 


198 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


bounded from a clump of giant ferns and dashed 
away. 

At Rob’s shot the creature fell, but almost in- 
stantly regained its feet and disappeared in a thicket 
of low palms. It was evidently badly wounded and 
Rob hurried in pursuit, leaving Fred to secure the 
birds. 

Pushing his way into the brush and searching for 
tell-tale blood drops on the ground, Rob moved 
slowly forward for a few rods and suddenly gave a 
shout which brought his companion to him on the 
run. 

“What’s the matter? What have you found?” 
exclaimed Fred as he gained the other’s side. 

“A path, man. Look, a real cut trail,” cried Rob. 

Fred whistled: “You’re right,” he declared. “It’s 
a trail all right, and where’s there’s a trail there are 
people. Let’s hurry back and tell Mr. Grayson.” 

“Perhaps it goes to the river,” suggested Rob. 
“Let’s follow it and see.” 

With all thoughts of the deer driven from their 
minds by this new discovery, the boys hurried along 
the pathway through the forest in the direction of 
the river and, much sooner than they expected, came 
to the banks of the stream. 

“I wonder whether we’re above or below the 
camp,” said Fred as the boys stood hesitating which 
way to turn. 

“Below it, I think,” replied Rob, “the path was on 


THE END OF THE OBEAH MAN 199 


our left and we didn’t cross it going into the bush.” 

“We’ll walk up stream a way and see,” declared 
Fred. “Do you suppose we can find the trail 
again?” 

“Aye, I ken the spot well,” Rob assured him. 
“Look at yon dead tree fallen across the rock. We 
can find it by that.” 

Taking good note of this and other landmarks the 
boys hurried as rapidly as possible up the river bank 
and to their joy reached their camping place in less 
than ten minutes. 

Mr. Grayson listened to the boys’ story with in- 
tense interest. 

“It may be a most fortunate discovery,” he de- 
clared. “This river is unnavigable here and may 
be the same for many miles ; but if we find an Indian 
camp all may be well — and the trail must lead us 
somewhere.” 

“But perhaps the Indians will attack us,” sug- 
gested Fred. 

“That’s scarcely possible. Aside from those 
strange fellows who took us in charge and deserted 
us so precipitately, I doubt if there are any hostile 
Indians in the country. And we know that tribe 
lived up the river, not down. It’s a chance we’ll have 
to take. Now let’s have breakfast and be off on the 
trail.” 

Having breakfasted on broiled curassow the three 


200 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


made their way down the river and entered the trail 
Rob had discovered. 

“This path hasn’t been used very recently/’ de- 
clared the scientist as he carefully examined the 
sodden earth and fallen leaves, “but it’s not an old 
or deserted trail. I should judge it might lead to a 
good sized village. But I can’t understand why it 
should end here at the river, unless there's a ford 
and the path continues on the other shore. In that 
case we may be going in the wrong direction.” 

“At any rate it leads from somewhere to some- 
where,” said Fred. “One direction’s as good as 
another to us.” 

It was an easy matter to follow the trail and for 
several miles Mr. Grayson and the boys tramped on. 
Little wild life was seen and this, Mr. Grayson de- 
clared, was evidence that the trail was frequently 
used by human beings. A few hours after leaving 
the river the ground commenced to rise and soon the 
path was zigzagging up a steep hill or ridge. Then 
it dipped sharply down; it skirted a deep gorge or 
ravine and suddenly emerged on a little open glade 
or savanna. The three halted abruptly at the edge 
of the forest ; on the other side of the clearing were 
a number of thatched Indian huts. There were no 
Indians visible and after a moment's hesitation Mr. 
Grayson called out a few words in the Talamanca 
dialect. But there was no reply, no sign of life. 

“That's queer,” exclaimed the scientist. “It 


THE END OF THE OBEAH MAN 201 


doesn’t look like an abandoned village, and yet, no 
one’s here.” 

‘‘Well, let’s investigate,” said Fred. “If nobody’s 
here we’ll make ourselves at home and wait for the 
people to come back. Perhaps they’ve all gone on 
a hunt or something.” 

“Maybe they ran away when they heard us com- 
ing,” suggested Rob. 

They were now approaching the first house and 
a glance within sufficed to show that it was unoc- 
cupied. It was the same with every dwelling, not 
a living being, not even a dog, was to be found. 

“They’ve gone, — bag and baggage,” announced 
Mr. Grayson, “and they’re not coming back right 
away for they’ve taken their hammocks and cooking 
utensils with them.” 

“They haven’t taken all their food,” cried Rob, 
who was rummaging among some baskets and pack- 
ages stored on the rafters under the roof. “Here’s 
a basket of corn and a lot of yams. We won't starve 
to death at any rate.” 

“No danger of that,” said Mr. Grayson. “There’s 
probably a provision field near, where we can secure 
all the vegetables we wish. I expect the people have 
gone off on a visit to some other village, — perhaps 
to a feast or dance. If they have gone on a fishing 
or hunting trip some of the old women and children 
would have remained.” 


202 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“Perhaps they’ve gone to the settlements,” ex- 
claimed Fred. 

“That’s a bright idea,” replied the scientist. “I 
shouldn’t be surprised if you were right. These 
people are in touch with civilization. I noticed some 
beads and rags in one of the houses. Possibly 
there’s a trail leading either to a navigable river or 
to some road. We’ll have a bite to eat and then 
try and find the trail.” 

Roasted yams and parched corn proved a most 
welcome change after a steady diet of unseasoned 
game and everyone ate heartily. Then, having 
helped themselves to a supply of vegetables and corn 
which was packed in baskets ready for carrying, the 
three proceeded to search for the trail by which the 
Indians had departed. 

There were severel paths leading from the village 
through the surrounding forest. One led to a large 
provision field; another lost itself in the bush and 
was apparently a hunter’s path; still another ended 
at a spring where the Indians secured water and the 
last carried the boys to a thicket of bamboos and 
palms from which building materials for the houses 
had been obtained. But no trail was found which 
showed evidences of going any distance and the boys 
became discouraged. 

“I don’t believe there’s any trail leading out of 
here,” declared Rob. 


THE END OF THE OBEAH MAN 203 


“Except the one we came by,” added Fred, “and 
I’ll bet the Indians went that way.” 

“I’m positive they did not,” stated Mr. Grayson. 
“That trail hadn’t been used for a month at least 
and the Indians haven’t been gone more than a day 
or two at most. The plantain skins and yam 
parings are not even shriveled yet. Come on boys, 
don’t give up.” 

Thus encouraged, the boys again commenced 
searching diligently and examining every yard of 
the encircling forest for signs of an opening. 
Presently a shout from Mr. Grayson announced that 
he had met with success. 

' “Here it is,” he cried as the boys reached him. 
“It was hidden by a screen of branches. Queer I 
didn’t think of that before. Many of the South 
American Indians have the custom of placing green 
branches across the trail by which they have trav- 
eled. It’s a sign for their friends that they’ve gone 
on a long journey.” 

“Let’s get started then,” said Fred. 

“I suggest that we remain here for to-night,” 
said Mr. Grayson. “We would have but a few 
hours to travel to-day and by resting here we’ll be 
able to cover much more ground to-morrow. A 
few hours more or less will make little difference, 
now we have an abundance of provisions.” 

The boys were not sorry for the chance to rest 
and when, just before sundown, a heavy rain began 


204 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


to fall, they were all thankful for the dry shelter 
of the Indian houses and were glad they were not 
sleeping in the open forest with only a few palm 
leaves to protect them from the torrential downpour. 

An early start was made the following morning 
and although the day was clear they were soon 
drenched to the skin, for the forest was dripping 
wet and, as they walked along the narrow trail, 
they brushed against bushes and vines and dislodged 
bucketsful of water. But the boys paid no attention 
to such incidents for they had long been accustomed 
to being soaking wet from morning until night, — 
as are all travelers in the tropical jungles, — and as 
the trail was open and easily followed they made 
rapid progress. 

Soon after leaving the village the path crossed a 
small stream; then, for several miles, it traversed 
a level, dry, brush-covered area and beyond this 
ascended a forest-covered mountainside. Steeper 
and steeper it became while the traveling was most 
difficult, for the trail led into a dry watercourse and 
up this the boys and their companion climbed and 
crawled over, around and under the masses of rocks 
and boulders. 

So hard was the ascent, loaded as they were with 
their baskets of provisions, that every few moments 
they were compelled to stop and rest. 

“Whew!” exclaimed Fred as after a particularly 
stiff bit of climbing they threw themselves down to 


THE END OF THE OBEAH MAN 205 


regain their breaths. ‘These Indians must be regu- 
lar goats.” 

“Hoot! ’tis the top o’ the world we’re aiming 
for,” declared Rob. 

“It is a bit steep,” admitted Mr. Grayson, “but 
Indians never mind such trifles. They have never 
learned that the longest way round is often the 
shortest way home, and such a thing as an easy 
route never occurs to them.” 

“Well, it’ll be all down hill on the other side and 
that’s some comfort,” laughed Fred as they again 
started up the precipitous mountainside. 

But the worst of the climb was now over. Pres- 
enly they reached the summit of a hog-backed 
ridge, and walking in comparative comfort along 
this, they came forth upon a great level plateau; a 
barren expanse of rain-worn ledges dotted with 
clumps of low, stunted trees, pools of stagnant 
water and strange vegetation. Everywhere were 
masses of gigantic lily-like plants; the crevices of 
the rocks were filled with grotesque orchids and 
overgrown lichens and, in many places there were 
thickets of immense brake-like ferns, nodding blue 
harebells and glaring red and orange marigolds. 
Scattered over the plateau, as if tossed about by 
some giant’s hand, were immense blocks and slabs 
of stone, carved and worn into grotesque forms by 
the rains of countless centuries. 

Altogether it was a weird and striking scene and 


200 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


the three travelers halted and stared about in won- 
der. A cool refreshing breeze was blowing and 
proved most delightful after the humid, breathless 
air of the forest. 

"This is a queer spot/' exclaimed Fred, as, seated 
upon a block of stone, he surveyed the scene about. 

"Sure, it’s the top o’ the world as I said,” laughed 
Rob. 

"It's certainly several thousand feet in air,” de- 
clared Mr. Grayson. "The vegetation is that of 
high altitudes and almost like that of the temperate 
regions. We’re on the flat summit of a mountain 
peak and we may be able to obtain a view of the 
surrounding country which will give us our bearings. 
For all we know, we may be in sight of some town 
or village. We’ll have something to eat and then 
look about.” 

Traveling across the plateau was not difficult and 
the boys rather enjoyed the novelty of their sur- 
roundings, and stopped frequently to examine the 
masses of rain-carved rocks which resembled un- 
couth monsters transformed to stone. Mr. Grayson 
suggested that they should work their way around 
the plateau, to obtain views in all directions, and 
they first made their way towards the nearest edge. 
Here the mountainside dropped off for a sheer thou- 
sand feet to the bottom of a tremendous gorge with 
a silvery thread of river winding through the forest 
far below. Across the gorge rose towering, forested 


THE END OF THE OBEAH MAN 207 


mountains; stretching in tier after tier as far as 
eye could see while, to the left, a stupendous cata- 
ract fell plunging from the level of the plateau to 
the river below. It was a superbly beautiful sight 
and Mr. Grayson and the boys stood gazing at it 
in wonder and admiration for a long time. 

“I should say that it is the highest waterfall in 
the world,” declared the scientist. “Its only rival 
is Kaieturk in British Guiana and this is far higher, 
although not as wide.” 

“How high is it?” asked Fred. 

“At least a thousand feet,” replied the other. 
“Kaieturk is 820 feet and this certainly exceeds it 
by 200 feet.” 

Turning with regret from the marvelous waterfall 
they proceeded around the edge of the plateau. For 
some distance the gorge continued and the opposite 
mountains hemmed in the view, but presently, the 
gorge widened, the mountains receded and the sides 
of the plateau fell away in a gradual slope. Below 
stretched a great, velvety, green valley beyond which 
rose a hazy mountain range culminating in a tower- 
ing peak with two sharp pinnacles half shrouded in 
the clouds. But there was no sign of human habita- 
tion in all that vast expanse of interminable green 
stretching from the mountain’s base to the distant 
horizon. 

While Mr. Grayson stood, carefully scrutinizing 
the map-like expanse spread beneath him, the two 


208 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


boys wandered about and presently seated them- 
selves upon a smooth boulder. Near them two great 
rocks were poised at the very verge of the plateau, 
twin columns almost as cylindrical and regular as 
though cut by human hands. 

“That’s a queer pair of rocks,” remarked Fred, 
idly picking up a pebble and tossing it at the two 
pillars. 

Rob glanced at them. “Aye,” he replied, “they 
look like, — Fred, man! do ye no recognize them? 
Hurrah ! Hurrah !” Leaping up he ran first to one 
side and then another, stooping down, craning his 
neck and peering across the valley as if suddenly 
bereft of his senses. 



Fate Takes a Hand 

“TT THAT on earth’s the matter with you? 

YY Have you gone crazy?” cried Fred as, 
jumping up, he joined his chum. 

“Loony nothing,” exclaimed Rob. “Do ye no 
see, Fred. Hoot mon! ’tis the very spot. Where’s 
the map, lad ? Look here, — here between yon rocks, 
— dinna ye mind what the map says, — ‘ye shall know 
the way by two great rocks like the bitts of a ship. 
To the west the high peak riven in twain.’ An’ did 
ye ever see rocks more resemblin’ ships’ bitts? An’ 
yonder’s the peak split in half. Canna ye see it, 
lad?” 

Fred gave a long whistle of surprise as Rob’s 
meaning dawned upon him. “Gee!” he exclaimed, 
“I do believe you’re right, Rob. Oh, Mr. Grayson, 
come here quick.” 

Mr. Grayson hurried to them at Fred’s shout. 
“What’s up?” he asked. “Do you see anything off 
there?” 

“No, but we’ve found the lost mine,” cried Fred 


209 


210 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


excitedly. “At least,” he added, “Rob's discovered 
the road to it. Look, there are the two rocks like 
a ship’s bitts and over there’s the peak riven in 
twain just as the map says. All we have to do is 
follow the directions and we’ll reach the mine. Hur- 
rah !” 

“By Jove!” exclaimed the scientist. “They do 
resemble the drawings on the map. You may be 
right. Let’s have another look at the map.” 

Seating themselves close to the stone pillars the 
two parts of the map were spread upon a smooth 
rock and Mr. Grayson carefully compared the rude 
tracery and quaint drawings with the surroundings, 
while the two excited boys listened breathlessly to 
his words. 

“There’s no question about it,” he declared. “It’s 
inconceivable that there should be two such spots, — 
two rocks resembling ship’s bitts with a bifurcated 
peak to the west. Moreover, these drawings are 
identical with the rocks yonder, — even to that pro- 
trusion of the left-hand side of the further column; 
the man who drew this was most observant of 
detail. But I don’t see anything of the sugar-loaf 
mountain mentioned here. Perhaps it’s not visible 
from this spot, however. Let’s see if the direction 
on the original map added to the words on the 
parchment will make matters clear.” 

Omitting the quaint spelling and phraseology Mr. 
Grayson slowly read as follows: “The Tisingal 


FATE TAKES A HAND 


211 


lies beyond the cross, distant west by south, two 
score and ten furlongs up the defile passing the 
bridge. You shall know the way hither by the two 
great rocks standing, like the bitts of a ship, and 
passing hither, you descend the mountain keeping to 
the west the high peaks riven in twain, and bearing 
ever onward to the south such time as the sugar 
loaf is fairly between the peaks, you will come unto 
the cross of rocks. Hence the savanna of the dead, 
where lies much gold, is but one league to the east ; 
but yet it avails nothing. No less than one hundred 
brave men-at-arms, well equipped, will suffice for 
the passage to the Tisingal this way for the savages 
are fierce and terrifying, using poisoned darts most 
deadly, and monstrous witchcraft and charms of 
the Devil, so fearful and strong, that no man yet 
may overcome. No man knows all, the Dons being 
destroyed, save he who fell into our hands having 
fled from the savages by chance, and, fearing death, 
he gave the map to buy life; but this did avail him 
nothing for the Dons are ever tricky and full cun- 
ning and, to be sure none others might profit by his 
own true knowledge of it, a true finding was made 
and he met the fate of his fellows.” 

“That sounds plain enough,” declared Fred. 

“And here’s the path!” cried Rob who had been 
searching carefully about while Mr. Grayson read 
the scarcely decipherable words on the ancient 
parchment. 


212 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“It’s most remarkable,” said Mr. Grayson. “I 
should scoff at such a coincidence if I read it in 
a story; but then, truth’s often stranger than fic- 
tion.” 

“Let’s get our packs and hurry on to the mine/* 
cried Fred impatiently. “It can’t be very far.” 

“Wait a bit, my boy,” said Mr. Grayson. “We’re 
trying to get out of here and to reach civilization, — 
not hunting for lost mines. It will not be difficult 
to find your way back here with a properly equipped 
expedition for we can blaze our trail as we proceed. 
I’m afraid we’ll have to stick to that Indian trail 
for the present. I’ve only your safety and interest 
at heart when I say this ; but I cannot consent to any 
deviation which might put us in a worse predica- 
ment than we are in at present.” 

“I suppose you’re right,” admitted Fred deject- 
edly, “although it’s awfully hard to turn away when 
we know that wonderful old mine is so near and 
we’re right on the road to it.” 

“It was just as hard for me to give up my chances 
of seeing the stronghold of those mysterious blue- 
eyed Indians, — and this ‘savanna of the dead’ might 
reveal most important discoveries. Don’t think I’m 
not just as anxious to prove the accuracy of that 
map as are you boys. But that old mine has been 
there for over 300 years and it will still be there 
whenever you want to send an expedition to find it. 
You’re probably the only people in the world who 


FATE TAKES A HAND 


213 


have such a map and certainly no one else has 
actually been here, within sight of these landmarks.” 

“Mr. Grayson’s right,” declared Rob, and added, 
philosophically, “and w T e couldn’t carry away the 
gold, even if we had it.” 

“And don’t forget about those fierce and terrify- 
ing savages and their witchcraft,” laughed the 
scientist. “For all we know they may still exist 
and we might be killed by their poisoned darts or 
devilish charms.” 

“Bosh” was all Fred could say as they rose and 
started to retrace their way to the spot where they 
had left their loads. 

It was a rather difficult matter to follow the 
Indian trail across the plateau and the little party 
proceeded with the utmost care. Sometimes, when 
they came to an expanse of bare ledge, a long and 
careful search was required before the faint path- 
way could be located ; but little by little, they picked 
their way. Pushing through thickets of scrub and 
ferns, splashing across water-filled hollows, twisting 
and turning around the scattered masses of rock 
they crossed the mountaintop at last and came forth 
©n the western of the plateau. 

“Ye gods!” ejaculated Mr. Grayson. 

“Hurrah!” shouted Rob. 

“Now what do you say?” cried Fred. 

Before them rose the two rocky monoliths and 


214 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


straight between these led the path they were fol- 
lowing. 

“Fate must be on your side,” declared the scien- 
tist. “This trail certainly follows the directions of 
your map, but it may branch off down below. If 
it does I warn you I shall take the most promising 
trail, regardless of your mine.” 

But the boys were too elated to worry over such 
future contingencies and were already hurrying 
forward towards the edge of the plateau. 

The way was down hill, but Fred’s prophecy that 
it would be “some comfort” was not borne out. 
Although the slope was not as steep as the side up 
which they had come, yet it was very difficult travel- 
ing, for the surface of the mountain was here com- 
posed of small, loose pebbles and bits of broken 
rock which slid and rolled away at a touch and 
afforded a very precarious foothold. Time and 
again Mr. Grayson and the boys sat down most 
unexpectedly and barely saved themselves from roll- 
ing head over heels down the slope by clutching at 
the tough vines and brush beside the trail. 

But despite these difficulties, their progress was 
rapid and in a wonderfully short time, they reached 
the base of the mountain. Before them stretched 
a broad grassy savanna, a' vast, level amphitheater 
of green surrounded by mountains. Above their 
heads, and stretching towards the south, towered the 
almost perpendicular sides of the flat-topped ridge 


FATE TAKES A HAND 


215 


they had left. To the west, the twin-spired peak 
loomed majestically against the sky and, far to the 
south, a low range of wooded hills rose above the 
furthest limits of the sea of waving grass. From 
where they stood they could trace the pathway wind- 
ing erratically across the plain. 

“Bully! It doesn’t branch yet,” exclaimed Fred. 
“I’ll bet this trail is the very one to the mine.” 

“I don’t see why it doesn’t go straight,” com- 
mented Rob. “It’s an awful waste of time and 
strength, following all those turns and twists 
yonder.” 

“Indians never make a straight trail,” replied Mr. 
Grayson. “To travel in a devious course is the 
primitive savage’s instinct for self protection; to 
allow himself to ambush anyone following him and 
to prevent any enemy from keeping him in sight 
from the rear. But there may be good reasons for 
that crooked path across the plain; these savannas 
are often treacherous with deep mud holes and 
swampy spots. It may be impossible to go straight 
across.” 

As there was no hope of crossing the savanna 
that afternoon, and as the open grassy plain would 
be a poor spot for a camp, it was decided to remain 
at the base of the mountain over night. 

Tramping across the level plain in the cool of 
early morning was very pleasant, but as the sun 
rose above the mountains, it became uncomfortably 


216 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


hot. From the summit of the plateau, the distance 
across the plain had appeared comparatively short, 
but hour after hour passed and the hazy mountain 
ranges seemed no nearer than before. Only by 
looking back at the lofty ridge behind them, could 
the boys convince themselves that they were making 
any progress. 

It was on such an occasion that Fred, glancing 
about for perhaps the fiftieth time, uttered an ex- 
clamation which brought his companions to an 
abrupt halt. 

“There ’tis,” he cried, pointing to the north. “The 
sugar-loaf -shaped mountain.” 

Sure enough, standing sharply forth was a mas- 
sive, conical peak which had hitherto been hidden 
behind the corner of the flat-topped ridge. 

“The map says it's fair atwixt the two peaks of 
that other mountain, and this is away off to one 
side,” objected Rob. 

“No, it doesn’t,” declared Fred. “I wrote down 
what it says when Mr. Grayson read it, back there 
on the mountain. It says 'keeping to the west the 
high peak riven in twain, and bearing ever to the 
south such times as the sugar-loaf is fair between 
the peaks.’ ” 

“Well, we’re going south and the mountain isn't 
in the right place,” insisted Rob. 

“I think I can solve the difficulty,” interposed Mr. 
Grayson. “Although we’re going south just now 


FATE TAKES A HAND 


217 


our general direction is more nearly southwest. The 
two peaks are still to the west and, as nearly as I 
can judge, if we continue on our present course we’ll 
soon bring the sugar-loaf in line with them. Then, 
if we follow the map, we should turn due south, 
keeping the conical mountain between the peaks as 
a back sight to guide us. But I expect this trail 
will lead us in a totally different direction, — it’s 
scarcely likely it’s been in existence for 300 years.” 

“It's confoundedly hot and I’m just dying of 
thirst,” declared Fred bitterly. “As long as we 
can’t hunt for the mine I don’t care where the old 
trail goes if it only takes us to shade and water.” 

Rob said nothing, but he gazed wistfully at the 
twin peaks and the sugar-loaf mountain and cast 
frequent glances over his shoulder as the party 
tramped silently onward. 

Gradually, almost imperceptibly, the twin peaks 
appeared to move towards the east. Closer and 
closer they drew to the conical mass beyond; they 
hid it from view and then, gradually, it reappeared 
and stood, clear and sharp against the sky, in the 
gap between the cloud-capped pinnacles. 

“Here’s where we ought to turn south,” remarked 
Rob casually, and striving to suppress his excite- 
ment. “The sugar-loaf’s fair atwixt the peaks 
now.” 

“And here’s water at least,” cried Mr. Grayson. 

Instantly peaks, maps and mine were forgotten, 


218 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


and dashing forward, the two boys threw themselves 
down beside the little stream that crossed the trail 
and plunged their faces into the tepid water. 

“My ! but that’s good,” declared Fred as he shook 
the water from his hair. “Water’s better than all 
the mines in the world, when you’re thirsty. I don’t 
believe I could have walked another mile without a 
drink.” 

“ ’Tis a bonny wee brook,” was Rob’s only com- 
ment as he took another long draught. 

Seated by the little stream they ate their lunch 
of parched corn and cold roast yams, for they had 
seen no game and there was no fuel with which to 
build a fire. Then, refreshed and rested, they rose 
to continue their journey. Apparently the trail 
crossed the brook, and splashing and floundering 
through the water and the mud, they gained the 
opposite bank. But there was no trace of a path, 
no break in the dense wall of savanna grass. 

“Perhaps it’s up or down stream,” suggested Mr. 
Grayson. “I’ll walk up and you boys can walk 
down and whoever finds the trail call out.” 

Pushing and cutting their way through the tangled 
grass the two boys slowly made their way down 
the stream. They had traveled perhaps a hundred 
feet when Fred halted and called to his companion. 

“Here’s a footprint,” he cried. “Someone’s been 
this way.” 

Rob, who was a few yards away, turned at Fred’s 


FATE TAKES A HAND 


219 


call and hurried through a dense mass of grass 
between him and his comrade. The next instant 
the ground seemed to open under him and with a 
tremendous splash he dove head first into a hidden 
pool. 

Spluttering and choking he came to the surface 
and, half-swimming, half-wading, floundered to- 
wards shore. But as he gained the edge of the 
pool and grasped the reed-like grasses to draw him- 
self up, he gave a cry of surprise. “O, Fred,” he 
shouted, “here's a boat.” 

The splash made by Rob’s unexpected plunge had 
already brought Fred to the verge of the pool and 
his first fright gave way to a peal of laughter at 
sight of Rob’s sorry, mud-covered figure. But at 
his friend’s words his merriment ceased. 

“A boat?” he repeated. “Where is it?” 

“Right here,” replied Rob who had now dragged 
himself up among the grass. 

“Well, of all things!” ejaculated Fred. “That’s 
the queerest boat I ever saw.” 

And truly, the craft that Rob had discovered 
hidden among the rank grass was a most remarkable 
affair, for it consisted of several cylindrical bundles 
of reeds wrapped and lashed together with twisted 
grass and with the tapered ends of the bundles 
slightly upturned to form bow and stern. 

Indeed, had it not been for the paddles resting 
upon it and the fact that it was moored to a tuft 


220 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 

of grass, the boys never would have recognized it 
as a boat. 

“We must call Mr. Grayson/’ said Rob, and to- 
gether, both boys hallooed. 

There was an answering call and in a few 
moments the scientist could be heard crashing 
through the grass towards the spot where the boys 
stood. 

"Great Scott!” he ejaculated, as he saw the 
strange looking craft. "That’s a balsa, — one of the 
most primitive types of boats in the world. I’ve 
seen them in use on Lake Titicaca in Peru, but I 
never expected to find one in this part of the world.” 

"Can we use it?” asked Fred. 

"Of course we can,” replied Mr. Grayson. 
"Evidently our Indian friends have continued their 
journey from here by water, there’s no sign of a 
trail going beyond the stream. Of course they may 
have gone either up or down, but I expect they went 
down, at any rate, that’s the route we’ll follow.” 

Much to the boys’ wonder, the basla easily sup- 
ported their weight. After a short search they 
found the opening to the pool among the grass and 
reeds and gaining the brook, paddled their odd boat 
up to the spot where they had left their baskets. 
Even with this additional load the balsa floated 
buoyantly, and, in high spirits, the party slipped 
down the stream. The boys were surprised to find 


FATE TAKES A HAND 


221 


how easily the balsa could be guided and paddled 
and they made rapid progress. 

“This is a heap better than walking,” declared 
Fred. 

“And no danger of going thirsty,” added Mr. 
Grayson. 

Rob chuckled. “And do ye ken where we’re 
gangin’ ?” he asked. “Look back at yon mountains.” 

His two companions glanced back at his words. 
Above the surrounding grass the twin summits of 
the riven peak were visible and, between them, could 
be seen the sugar-loaf mountain. 

“Why, we’re going just the way the map de- 
scribes,” exclaimed Fred. 

“I give up,” said Mr. Grayson resignedly. “When 
fate takes a hand there’s no use trying to do any- 
thing. Everything seems to conspire to take us to- 
wards the mine. I might just as well sit back and let 
chance guide us.” 

“All streams lead to the sea, anyway,” said Fred 
sagely. “So we’re on our way to the coast. Say, 
I’ll bet this stream runs right past the mine, — don’t 
you remember the map says the Spanish chap 
escaped in a canoe?” 

“Hmm, perhaps you’re right,” admitted the 
scientist, “though if that’s the case I don’t under- 
stand why all those involved directions should be 
given for reaching the mine overland.” 

“I do,” declared Rob. “Don’t you mind how it 


222 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


says a hundred men-at-arms would be needed to 
reach it by way of the savanna of the dead. I’ll bet 
this river flows that way.” 

“That may account for it,” replied Mr. Grayson, 
“but there's a lot in that map that’s puzzling. For 
example, there’s nothing said as to how one is to 
reach those stone columns on top of the plateau, — 
it seems to be taken as a matter of course that one 
will start from there.” 

“Perhaps all that was on a part of the map that’s 
been lost,” suggesed Fred. “I noticed the upper 
edges of the map we found and the one the Obeah 
man had were both ragged, as if torn.” 

“That must be the explanation,” agreed Mr. Gray- 
son. “But at any rate, as long as fate has com- 
pelled us to come this way I can’t say I’m sorry. 
I’d like to see that place of the dead that contains 
so much gold.” 

“Aren’t you afraid of those terrifying savages?” 
taunted Fred. 

“Terribly,” laughed the other. “Especially of 
their witchcraft.” 

Thus talking and laughing they had taken little 
note of the speed they were making or of their 
surroundings, but Rob had constantly kept a watch 
on the landmarks far to the south and now he spoke. 

“Yon sugar-loaf’s slipping away from the cleft,” 
he announced. “We must be nigh the stopping 
place. I wonder where that rock cross ” 


FATE TAKES A HAND 


223 


“Hark!” Mr. Grayson interrupted. “Didn’t you 
hear voices?” he continued in a whisper. “Listen, 
there; surely those are voices ahead. Steer into 
the shore, quietly.” 

A touch of the paddles and the balsa ran silently 
into the shore, and almost breathlessly, the three 
listened. Then, from somewhere near at hand, came 
the sound of low voices, — unintelligible but unmis- 
takable. 

“Someone’s there,” whispered Fred. Despite him- 
self he could not keep his voice from shaking with 
excitement, for the sound of human voices in this 
out-of-the way corner of the world seemed weird 
and uncanny. 

“They must be Indians,” declared Mr! Grayson 
in low tones. “We’ll go on slowly and call out as 
soon as they are in sight. If they hear us coming 
they may be frightened and clear out.” 

Paddled cautiously, the balsa slipped silently for- 
ward and round a bend and there, in plain view 
and not fifty yards distant, were three other balsas, 
each manned by naked, bronze-skinned Indians. 

Instantly a wild yell arose from the dusky throats 
and, with savage strokes of their paddles, the In- 
dians whirled their frail craft about and dashed 
down stream. Mr. Grayson shouted to them in 
Talamanca, in Spanish and in Guatuso, but without 
effect. The fleeing Indians did not even turn their 
heads, and, in a moment, were out of sight. 


224 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“Hurry up, boys, paddle after them. I’ll keep on 
calling as we go. Perhaps when they’re over their 
first fright they’ll stop and talk.” 

Propelled by the boys’ frantic efforts, the balsa 
sprang forward and swept after the Indians while 
Mr. Grayson called out words of reassurance and 
friendship. But there was no sign of the savages, 
no answering cry; no sound of splashing paddles 
nor of human voices; the Indians had utterly van- 
ished. 

“They’re gone,” said the scientist in disappointed 
tones. “Frightened out of their wits. I don’t sup- 
pose they dreamed there was another living being 
within a hundred miles; much less white men.” 

“But where have they gone?” asked Fred in puz- 
zled tones. “The river’s straight here and there’s 
nothing but grass on the sides.” 

As Fred spoke, the river opened into a little lake- 
like expanse from whose edges several narrow creeks 
led into the savanna. 

“There’s the answer,” replied Mr. Grayson. 
“They’ve gone up one of those creeks, probably their 
camp is there.” 

“There’s a hill over yonder, to the right,” said 
Fred, “and there are trees and brush on it. You 
can see it above the grass, perhaps — . Gosh !” 

A soft whistling sound and a gentle thud had 
brought this sudden expletive from Fred’s lips and 
now he stood, staring, dazed, at a long arrow 


FATE TAKES A HAND 


225 


which had buried half its length in the basket by 
his side. 

“Duck down and paddle for your lives,” cried 
Mr. Grayson, and as the three crouched low, and 
wielding their paddles, spun their craft about, a 
shower of arrows sang through the air and spatted 
spitefully into the raft, the baskets and the water. 
Mr. Grayson uttered a sharp cry and jerked up his 
leg as an arrow pierced his flesh, but luckily the 
balsa was almost out of bowshot and most of the 
missiles fell short. An instant more, and they had 
slipped into a narrow opening in the grass and were 
speeding up a narrow slough or creek. 

There were no sounds of pursuit and the fugitives 
resumed more comfortable positions, but continued 
paddling with all their strength. 

“That was a close call/’ exclaimed the scientist, 
as gritting his teeth to suppress a groan, he drew 
the bone-headed arrow from his leg. 

“Why, you’re hurt,” cried Fred, turning about 
at this instant. 

“Don’t stop paddling ; it’s nothing. Just a scratch. 
The arrow’s not poisoned, fortunately.” 

“Well, for a country where there are no hostile 
Indians those chaps are mighty unfriendly,” said 
Fred dryly. 

“ ’Twas fair excitin’ for a bit,” remarked Rob. 
“Do ye think they’ll follow us, Mr. Grayson?” 

The scientist was busily bandaging his leg. “I’m 


226 THE TRIAL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


sure I don't know," he replied somewhat testily. 
“Everything’s so amazing that I don’t know what 
to expect next. But I’ll take good care not to 

chase any unknown Indians in future, even if ’’ 

The sentence was interrupted by Fred. “Here’s 
the end of the creek,’’ he announced. 



A Shower of Arrows Sang through the Air and Spatted 
Spitefully into the Raft 


227 


















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i 











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L 


» 















































V 


V 


•? 


/ 























Strange Discoveries 


W ITH a slight jar, the balsa ran its nose onto 
the mud. Up from the water’s edge the 
ground sloped gently and, above the grass, 
reeds and water-plants which fringed the shallows, 
rose graceful bamboos. Beyond these, and blotting 
out the sky, was the dense foliage of bush and trees. 

“This must be the hill you saw,” announced Mr. 
Grayson. “We’ve crossed the savanna.” 

“What’s the next move?” asked Fred. “There’s 
no way out of here and I don’t fancy running the 
gauntlet of those arrows.” 

Mr. Grayson peered intently about. “No,” he 
said at last. “There’s no other waterway and it 
would be dangerous in the extreme to go back, — 

at least by daylight, — we might wait here until ” 

“Here’s a path,” called Rob, who had stepped 
ashore and was standing under the giant bamboos. 

The others hurried ashore. “Why it’s a regular 
road,” cried Fred, who was in advance. 


229 


230 THE TKAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


Mr. Grayson cast one glance at the spot and 
passed his hands across his eyes. “Am I dream- 
ing?” he exclaimed, “or has that arrow wound 
affected my eyes? That’s a prehistoric paved way. 
Look at those steps leading up the hill yonder. 
They’re covered with hieroglyphs.” 

“I vote we follow it anyway,” said Fred. “If 
we go down river some of those savages will wing 
us, — we’re too good a target to miss, — and we can’t 
see them. This road must lead to some place. It 
looks good to me.” 

“Probably it leads to some ruined temple,” said the 
scientist. “But it’s no use staying here, — we’ll hide 
the balsa though ; in case we decide to go back we’ll 
need it.” 

Having carefully concealed their craft and pad- 
dles the three stepped forward along the ancient 
roadway and commenced climbing the stone steps 
which led up the hillside. 

Trees and bushes had sprung up from between 
the immense stones; vines, creepers and moss cov- 
ered them, and in many places the boys were obliged 
to cut their way; but the steps were still intact and 
Mr. Grayson constantly exclaimed in admiration at 
the carvings which decorated them. 

They had ascended for some distance when the 
steps ended at a broad, paved path which curved 
to the left and along this the three hurried on; the 
boys athrill with the excitement of penetrating un- 


STRANGE DISCOVERIES 


231 


known mysteries and Mr. Grayson elated at the 
thought of what archaeological treasures might be 
ahead. 

Presently, the road turned sharply and, swinging 
around the corner, the party came to an abrupt 
halt. 

Fred gripped his companion’s arm. “There’s the 
cross,” he exclaimed. 

Before them rose a massive half-ruined archway; 
all about were tumbled-down walls and blocks of 
stone, half hidden by the jungle, and beyond, — upon 
a pyramidal hillock, — stood a rude stone cross. 

“The triumph of Christianity over the heathen 
gods,” remarked Mr. Grayson. “Confound those 
old Spaniards. I wish they hadn’t been so blamed 
fanatical. They’ve made an awful mess of this 
place.” 

“What are you talking about?” asked Fred. 

“Don’t you see?” cried the scientist petulantly. 
“Here I’ve stumbled on the only known prehistoric 
temple in Costa Rica and it’s all knocked into bits 
by the old Dons, and with a cross on top of the 
sacrificial altar. It’s rotten.” 

“I’m mighty glad to see that cross,” declared 
Rob. “We’re but fifty furlongs from the mine.” 

“Yes, ‘up the defile and under the bridge,’ ” added 
Fred. “Hurrah ! fate is guiding us you see. But 
I don’t see any defile.” 

But Mr. Grayson was already busily examining 


232 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


the carved stones and walls of the ruined temple and 
paid little heed to the boys* words. 

“1 wonder how we go on from here,” continued 
Fred. 'There must be a trail, or something.” 

"Let's look around while Mr. Grayson’s poking 
about here,” suggested Rob. 

"Clambering over the debris, and slashing a way 
through the vines and brush which covered the ruins, 
the boys sought for a trail or path. They had 
worked their way around two sides of the ruins and 
were pushing through some thick weeds behind the 
pyramid with its cross, when Fred gave a little cry 
and leaped quickly back. 

"Gee!” he exclaimed, "I almost tumbled down 
that hole.” 

Stepping cautiously, the boys cut away the sur- 
rounding vegetation and exposed a square, black 
opening in the earth at the base of the pyramid. 

"Why, there are steps leading into it,” cried Rob. 

"I wonder where it goes. I say, perhaps there’s 
treasure down there.” 

Picking up a fragment of stone Fred tossed it 
into the hole. "It’s deep anyway,” he declared, as 
the tinkle of the falling stone grew fainter and 
fainter. 

"Let’s make a torch and go down,” suggested 
Rob. 

"Hadn’t we best tell Mr. Grayson first?” said 
Fred. 


STRANGE DISCOVERIES 


m 


“Hoot mon! We’ll do a wee bit exploring our- 
selves first,” chuckled Rob. “He’s too busy sketch- 
ing yon heathen carvings to miss us for a time.” 

As he spoke, Rob busied himself gathering dry 
sticks and twigs and tying them in bundles to form 
torches, and Fred, as anxious to explore the mys- 
terious opening as his companion, also fell to work. 
“I wonder what’s become of those Indians,” re- 
marked Rob, presently. “I hope they don’t follow 
us.” 

Fred jumped up and glanced nervously about. 
“I’d forgotten all about them,” he exclaimed. “Per- 
haps they’re right near here in the bushes now. 
But I suppose there’s no danger, — Mr. Grayson 
doesn’t seem nervous — and he’s a regular scare-cat 
about our safety. Just imagine him not ” 

His sentence was never finished for at that instant 
there was a warning cry from Mr. Grayson, fol- 
lowed by the sound of running feet, and the scientist 
came dashing madly towards the boys. “Indians !” 
he shouted as he caught sight of the two. “Quick, 
get under cover, — they’re all about.” 

As he reached the boys and dodged behind a 
mass of fallen masonry an arrow whistled within 
an inch of his head. Rob grasped his gun and 
peered cautiously around the rocks. 

“Don’t shoot,” commanded the scientist. “It 
would only make matters worse ; but you might fire 


234 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


in the air, — perhaps the noise will frighten them. 
They may not know we are armed.” 

But the report of the gun was answered by 
savage shouts, and a shower of arrows fell clattering 
against the stone which protected Rob and his com- 
panions. 

At this instant a bright idea flashed across Fred’s 
mind. “Let’s go down the hole,” he exclaimed, 
“they’ll never get us there.” 

“What hole?” asked Mr. Grayson, puzzled. 
“What do you mean?” 

In a few rapid words Fred told of their dis- 
covery. “I guess that’s our best plan,” agreed the 
scientist. “They’ll scarcely dare follow, — these In- 
dians are always afraid of such places. I expect 
their superstitious dread of the ruins is all that’s 
prevented them from rushing us. Moreover, if they 
should follow us, the advantage will be all on our 
side down below.” 

' Gathering up the torches they had prepared, and 
crawling like snakes through the weeds, the three 
gained the edge of the opening and descended the 
rude stone steps. 

Soon they were in semi-darkness, for the stairs 
were broad and the slope was gradual, and by the 
time the last steps were reached the boys and their 
companion were fully fifty feet beyond the narrow 
opening by which they had entered. Lighting a 
torch, the three looked curiously about. They were 


STRANGE DISCOVERIES 


£35 


in a narrow passage, walled and roofed with care- 
fully fitted stone. 

“I guess we’re safe here,” said Fred. “Those 
Indians can’t see us from above and if they start 
to come down we can pot ’em easily. What sort 
of cellar is this, anyway? Do you suppose there’s 
treasure down here?” 

Mr. Grayson was carefully examining the wall. 
“It’s prehistoric handiwork,” he announced. “I ex- 
pect it’s a secret underground passage leading from 
the temple. Very likely it was used by the pagan 
priests who conducted the sacrifices up on that 
pyramidal altar.” 

“Let’s go on and find where it goes,” suggested 
Rob. 

“Yes, we can’t go back with those chaps keeping 
watch above, and there’s no good staying here,” 
urged Fred. 

“I suppose we might as well go on,” agreed the 
scientist. “We must proceed cautiously, however; 
these ancient tunnels are often dangerous, the build- 
ers had a playful habit of making wells and pitfalls 
to trap those unfamiliar with the way. Keep your 
eyes on the floor.” 

Holding their torches high and picking their way 
carefully, the three walked down the subterranean 
passage. Suddenly Fred stopped. “Hold on,” he 
exclaimed. “We’ve left all our provisions behind.” 

“By Jove ! that’s so,” ejaculated Mr. Grayson. 


236 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


“Let’s go back for them,” said Rob. 

“No, we can’t do that,” declared the scientist. 
“The baskets were left close to the archway. It 
would be suicidal to attempt to regain them. Be- 
sides, the Indians have probably taken possession of 
them by now. We’ll have to find our way out and 
trust to luck to get game, as we did before. There’s 
bound to be an opening at the other end of this 
tunnel.” 

“Maybe it’s covered up, or fallen in,” suggested 
Fred. “Then we’d be in a pretty fix.” 

“No worse off than back there,” said Rob cheer- 
fully. “Hoot mon ! don’t be croakin’.” 

For a time they tramped on in silence. Then 
Fred spoke. “We must have been going for miles,” 
he said. 

Mr. Grayson laughed. “We’ve been walking 
about fifteen minutes,” he replied. “Hello! we’re 
going up hill.” 

“We’ve only two torches left,” announced Fred. 
“If we don’t get out pretty soon we’ll be without 
lights.” 

“Look out!” called Mr. Grayson. “There’s a lot 
of loose stones here; part of the roof’s fallen in.” 

With the utmost care they climbed over the ob- 
structions which nearly filled the passage. 

“Light ahead!” exclaimed Mr. Grayson, “we’re 
near the end.” 

But the tunnel now sloped steeply up and every 


STRANGE DISCOVERIES 


237 


few feet it was choked with fallen stones and 
progress was slow, and difficult. Spurred on by the 
faint glimmer of daylight before them, the three 
toiled on, while the torches burned lower and lower 
until, when still some distance from the opening, the 
boys were obliged to cast them aside. In the semi- 
darkness they stumbled forward, barking their shins 
against unseen rocks and feeling their way as best 
they could while, in low tones, the scientist con- 
stantly warned them to be careful. 

“Don't call out or brush against the walls, ,, he 
cautioned. “A sudden jar, or the vibration of a 
voice, might cause the whole roof to come tumbling 
in on us, and for Heaven’s sake, don’t dislodge any 
of these blocks of stone, — the whole place is just 
ready to give way. Thank God, we’re nearly out.” 

Five minutes more and they could see the sun- 
light and green foliage ahead, — only a dozen yards 
separated them from the entrance, but with each 
foot that they progressed their difficulties in- 
creased. In places they could scarcely squeeze be- 
tween the piles of fallen stones and the sides of the 
tunnel ; in other spots they were compelled to crawl 
flat on their stomachs over the heaps of rubbish that 
filled the passage to within a few inches of the 
roof, and several times, their hearts seemed to cease 
beating as bits of earth and masonry came rattling 
down from the cracked, arched roof. Then the last 
barrier was reached, — not ten feet distant gleamed 


238 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


the exit from the tunnel. Mr. Grayson was already 
outside and, with a cry of relief, the two boys 
dashed forward. Fred was in the lead, and grasp- 
ing the scientist’s outstretched hand, drew himself 
into the open air. Taking the gun that Rob held 
out to him, he handed it to Mr. Grayson, and turn- 
ing, reached down to help his companion. 

As he did so, his foot dislodged a stone which 
crashed down the slope into the tunnel. There was 
an ominous rending sound, a shout from Mr. Gray- 
son, and Fred, exerting all his strength, pulled his 
friend clear as, with a tremendous roar, the tunnel 
caved in. 

Rob’s life had been saved by the fraction of a 
second, and with nerves shaken by the narrow 
escape, the three sat silent and breathing hard. Fred 
was the first to break the silence. ‘‘That was the 
closest shave yet,” he exclaimed. 

“Aye, very close,” agreed Rob. “But ye ken a 
miss is as good as a mile.” 

“Thank the Lord, it didn’t occur with us inside,” 
said Mr. Grayson fervently. 

“Well, the Indians can’t follow us that way 
now,” declared Fred. “Where are we anyway?” 

Then, for the first time, they looked about and 
took note of their surroundings. They were upon 
a level, platform-like spot on the side of a heavily- 
wooded hill. Above them rose the dense forest, 
while below, the slope was curiously terraced down 


STRANGE DISCOVERIES 


239 


to a little stream that wound through a deep gully. 
On the farther side of this rose another wooded 
hill, also terraced up from the water’s edge, and 
all about, sharp angular stones projected from the 
dense jungle growth. 

“By Jove! what a discovery,” exclaimed Mr. 
Grayson. “Do you realize what this is, boys? 
We’re standing in a prehistoric city, — a ruin as won- 
derful as Copan in Honduras. It’s an archaeological 
treasure-trove. Lord, how I wish I had a gang 
of laborers here.” 

“You’d need a few provisions and supplies also,” 
Fred reminded him dryly. 

Rob’s eyes twinkled mischievously. “An’ dinna 
forget the ruin has been here hundreds o’ years an’ 
’twill likely stop here ’till you can come back with 
your expedition,” he said. 

Mr. Grayson laughed. “You’re right, Rob,” he 
admitted. “You’ve turned the tables on me and 
brought me back to earth. We’ll get out of here 
before we think of anything else.” 

“The question is, how to get out,” said Fred. 
“The tunnel’s gone and I don’t see any other way.” 

“Can’t we walk along the brook ?” suggested Rob. 
“It may lead us to a river where we can make a 
raft.” 

“That’s our best chance,” agreed the scientist. 
“Come along, boys.” 

Scrambling down the terraces, which proved to 


240 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


be immense stone steps covered with curious, 
elaborate carvings, they soon reached the bottom of 
the gorge. 

“Oh, look at that idol,” exclaimed Fred, pointing 
to a grotesque image at the foot of the stairway. 
“It’s just like those jade stones of ours.” 

“Yes, it’s the snake-headed god,” replied Mr. 
Grayson. 

“I say, we were boobs,” cried Rob. “Perhaps 
those Indians wouldn’t have attacked us if we’d 
shown them the charms.” 

“Yes, and we had a swell chance to try it,” said 
Fred sarcastically. 

They had walked for some distance along the bed 
of sand and pebbles bordering the stream when, 
rounding a bend, they came suddenly upon a most 
unexpected sight. Spanning the gorge in two 
graceful arches, was an ancient bridge, it’s quaint, 
lantern-like sentry boxes speaking eloquently of its 
Spanish origin. 

For a space the three stood speechless, staring 
with unbelieving eyes at this evidence of civilization 
here in the unknown wilderness. Rob was the first 
to recover from his surprise. “Down the defile and 
under the bridge,” he cried. “Hurrah! We’re right 
by the mine.” 

Breaking into a run he dashed down the gorge 
and under the bridge with Fred at his heels. 

“Well, I’ll be hanged!” exclaimed Mr. Grayson 


STRANGE DISCOVERIES 


241 


and then, as there seemed no other course to follow, 
he too hurried after the boys. 

Just beyond the bridge the stream was crossed by 
a dyke of rock over which the water poured in a 
miniature cataract. On either side, the hills rose 
steeply; that on the right covered with dense bush; 
that on the left a bare expanse of broken rock and 
glaring red and yellow gravel, cut into deep gullies 
by the rain and with huge masses of debris piled 
against the slope. At the apex of each of these 
pyramids of rock and gravel, and piercing the hill- 
side in a dozen places, were irregular black holes. 

“The mine !” exclaimed Rob. “Hoot mon ! Hoot ! 
His the lost mine we’re gapin’ at.” 

“Hurrah!” shouted Fred in a perfect frenzy of 
excitement. “We’ve found Tisingal, — we’ve found 
it, we’ve found it!” 

The next instant both boys were scrambling madly 
up the hill towards the holes. 

“Hold on there!” shouted Mr. Grayson. “Don’t 
try to go in those holes. Do you hear?” 

But the boys were deaf to his cries, and gaining 
the first opening, disappeared from sight. 

Hurrying after them, the scientist clawed his way 
up the piles of tailings from the long-lost mine, and 
constantly shouting for the boys to come back, for 
he well knew the danger of entering the ancient 
shafts. 

But he was still several yards from the summit 


242 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


of the slope when the boys reappeared with expres- 
sions of chagrin and disappointment on their faces. 

“The hole’s all filled up,” announced Fred. “We 
couldn’t go in ten feet.” 

“Thank Heaven, you couldn’t,” exclaimed Mr. 
Grayson. “You two deserve a good trouncing. 
What do you mean by diving into that hole after 
I told you not to? Suppose the place had caved in 
and buried you.” 

“I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Grayson,” said Fred 
apologetically. 

“Aye, we were that addle-headed with excitement 
we never heard you,” declared Rob. 

“Yes, yes, I suppose so,” said the scientist moli- 
fied. “But you must be more careful. Safety first 
you know.” 

“Do you think this is the mine?” enquired Fred 
anxiously. 

“Unquestionably,” replied Mr. Grayson with con- 
viction. “That is, unless there are two old mines 
in the vicinity, — which is scarcely probable. These 
old shafts, the piles of tailings, the dam across the 
brook, — which was probably built to supply water 
power for the mill, all these indicate extensive min- 
ing operations. Finally, there’s this bridge, — the 
Dons wouldn’t have built such a structure as that 
without an output to warrant it. Besides, every- 
thing agrees with your map. Yes, I think you’ve 
found the long-lost Tisingal mine, — remarkable as 


[STRANGE DISCOVERIES 


243 


it may seem, — and I congratulate you. If all the 
old tales are true you’ll soon be millionaires.” 

^Well, it doesn’t look such-a-much to me,” de- 
clared Fred. “I don’t see anything that looks like 
gold here.” 

Mr. Grayson laughed. “Judging from the tailings 
the veins were pretty well in,” he said. “To reach 
the gold the shafts will have to be reopened. You 
didn’t expect to find nuggets scattered all about in 
plain sight, did you?” 

But, before Fred could reply, a shout from Rob 
drew their attention to where he was kneeling down 
and digging frantically with his machete among a 
pile of rocks. “Mr. Grayson, Fred, come here, 
quick,” he cried. 

“What is it? What have you found?” asked Fred 
as the two hurried to Rob’s side, and then, “Gee!” 
exclaimed Fred. “Gee whiz!” and dropping to his 
knees beside his chum he too commenced tearing the 
earth aside. 

“By Jove!” ejaculated the scientist and in another 
instant, he also was digging as if his life depended 
on it. 

Before their astonished eyes, and gleaming dully 
among the brown rocks, was an enormous nugget 
of virgin gold. 

Feverishly they toiled and presently the gigantic 
nugget was finally exposed. “Whew! but that is 
some gold,” exclaimed Fred. 


244 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 

“An’, ye dinna see muckle much eh ?” cried Rob. 
“We're rich, lad. There must be thousands an' 
thousands o’ pounds worth o ’gold in yon lump.” 

“And not worth ten cents to you just now,” 
added Mr. Grayson who had now recovered his ac- 
customed equanimity. “But don’t let me cast cold 
water on your elation. Once we reach civilization 
you can come back and reopen the mines and make 
your fortunes, no doubt.” 

“Can’t we carry that piece with us?” asked Fred. 
“Then we could prove we’d found the mine.” 

Mr. Grayson fairly roared with merriment. “I’ve 
not the least objection,” he declared. “Just lift it 
up and we’ll start along.” 

“I don’t see anything so funny about it,” said 
Fred. Stooping down he grasped the nugget and 
tugged at it with all his strength. “Come on, Rob, 
and give a hand,” he exclaimed. “The nugget’s 
wedged between these rocks.” 

But the united efforts of the two boys failed to 
stir the mass of gold from its bed. 

“Man, but ’tis queer we can’t lift it,” said Rob, 
straightening up and wiping the perspiration from 
his forehead. 

“Nothing queer about it,” declared the scientist. 
“You seem to forget that gold’s one of the heaviest 
things in the world. That bit of metal weighs at 
least 600 lbs. Something of a load to carry, eh?” 

“Six hundred pounds!” repeated Fred incredu- 


STRANGE DISCOVERIES 


245 


lously. “Six hundred pounds, and pure gold ! How 
much is it worth?” 

“Roughly, about one hundred thousand dollars,” 
replied the scientist. 

“Gosh!” was all Fred could say. 

As for Rob, he dropped limply on a rock and 
gazed with undisguised awe at the lump of dull 
yellow that represented a veritable fortune. 

“I guess the old yarns about Tisingal were true 
after all,” said Fred at last. “If lumps worth a 
hundred thousand dollars are knocking about like 
this there must be millions inside.” 

“Aye, do you mind Cap’n Jack telling us of the 
lad who knocked a bit off a lump with his machete?” 
cried Rob. 

“That’s an idea,” exclaimed Fred jumping up. 
“We’ll whack off some pieces of this nugget and 
carry them back.” Seizing machetes the boys 
hacked away at the golden mass, while Mr. Grayson 
looked on with twinkling eyes and chuckled. 

“It isn’t much easier to cut than to lift, is it?” 
he asked. 

“Say, you’re making fun of us,” exclaimed Fred, 
ceasing his efforts. “Why didn’t you tell us we 
couldn’t cut it?” 

“Oh, as long as you’re mine owners I thought 
you might as well gain some experience first hand,” 
laughingly replied Mr. Grayson. “But all joking 


246 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


aside, you can cut off some pieces if you go about 
it properly. Here, let me show you.” 

“Don’t forget you’re a mine owner, too,” said 
Rob. “It’s share and share alike, Mr. Grayson.” 

“Yes, if it hadn’t been for you we’d never have 
found the mine,” declared Rob. 

“Nonsense,” replied the scientist. “It was pure 
luck, nothing else. I did my level best not to let 
you find it.” 

“Well, we all found it together then,” insisted 
Fred, “and you’re going to have an equal share 
in it.” 

“We’ll talk business later,” replied Mr. Grayson 
evasively. “Now let me show you how to cut off 
a sample of gold.” 

Placing the edge of a machete across a corner of 
the nugget he hammered upon the back of the blade 
with a rock and slowly, but surely, the steel pene- 
trated the soft, ductile metal, and in a few moments, 
a five-pound lump had been sheared off. 

“I guess those will do for samples,” remarked 
the scientist when he had cut off two more pieces. 
“Now let’s cover up the nugget and attend to more 
important matters. Time’s not standing still and 
we’ve only an hour of daylight and nothing for 
supper.” 

“Golly! I’d forgotten all about that,” exclaimed 
Fred. 


STRANGE DISCOVERIES 


247 


“So had I, but I’m fair famished, now I think of 
it,” declared Rob. 

“First we must find a camping place and try to 
shoot something to eat,” announced Mr. Grayson. 
“Let's see, there’s ” 

“I have it,” interrupted Fred. “Let’s camp up 
in one of those sentry boxes. Then, if any Indians 
come snooping about, we’ll be safe at any rate.” 

“Excellent,” agreed Mr. Grayson. 

Climbing up the hillside, they soon gained the 
bridge which was as firm and solid as when first 
built four centuries before. The sentry boxes were 
also in good repair, but were tenanted by swarms of 
bats and deep with accumulated dirt. But when the 
bats had been driven off and the interior swept out, 
and a layer of dry leaves had been placed on the 
floor, the little room was as snug and comfortable 
as one could wish, although rather close quarters for 
three. 

While Fred and Mr. Grayson were preparing the 
sentry box for occupancy and were gathering fire 
wood, Rob went in search of game. The scientist 
cautioned him to remain within hailing distance and 
warned him to keep out of the thick bush. “I don’t 
believe there are any Indians about,” he said, “but 
one never can tell. We must be on the safe side. If 
you hear any unusual sound or see any signs of 
savages, hurry back as quickly as you can. Act as 
if enemies were all about. Don’t forget.” 


248 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


'Won’t the sound of the gun attract the Indians?” 
asked Fred. 

"It will if there are any near enough to hear it,” 
replied Mr. Grayson, "but it’s a risk we must take. 
We can’t starve. Indians are the lesser of two 
evils.” 

But Rob was not compelled to go far. Crossing 
the bridge, he found an old road led into the forest, 
— an ancient paved way overgrown with vegetation 
and choked with fallen trees, — but still easily traced 
and reminding him of the old Gold Road. With 
Mr. Grayson’s warnings in mind he hesitated to 
enter the forest and stood irresolutely just within 
the border of the woods. He was about to turn and 
skirt the edge of the bush at the top of the hill when 
he caught a glimpse of something moving in a large 
tree a few yards ahead. With his eyes fixed on the 
dense foliage he stepped noiselessly forward and at 
his first movement the branches swayed and rocked 
as a big troop of monkeys leaped chattering from 
limb to limb. 

At the double report of Rob’s gun two of the 
creatures came crashing down, and hastily picking 
them up, Rob hurried back to his companions. 

Mr. Grayson was deeply interested in Rob’s news 
of the old road. "I suspected as much,” he said. 
"According to the old accounts, there was a good 
sized settlement here with a chapel and a fort. This 
bridge was built to accommodate considerable traffic 


STRANGE DISCOVERIES 


249 


and the road was, no doubt, the regular route to 
and from the mines. If we follow that road we’re 
sure to reach the settlements or the sea coast. We’ve 
come in here by the back door, so to speak.” 

“What I can’t understand is why no one’s found 
the mines, if there’s a road leading to them,” said 
Fred. 

“Or why the map says to come the other way,” 
added Rob. 

“That’s a puzzle we may solve yet,” replied Mr. 
Grayson. “But I imagine when the Indians revolted 
and destroyed the Spaniards and their settlements 
that they also destroyed the road and bridges and 
concealed all traces of them, or perhaps, they occu- 
pied the territory and made it impossible for anyone 
to approach that way. Very likely the survivors of 
the massacre, or the sole survivor if we credit your 
map, escaped by the way we arrived and gave that 
route as the only one possible at that time.” 

“In that case we may have trouble yet,” remarked 
Fred. “Seems to me we’re just getting out of one 
scrape and into another.” 

“Don’t cross your bridges before we come to 
them,” Mr. Grayson admonished him. 

“And get busy with your supper or there won’t 
be any left,” said Rob, as he tossed aside a clean- 
picked bone. 



The End of the Trail 


T HEIR meal over, they entered the sentry box, 
barricaded the narrow opening with branches 
and reclined in ease upon the soft leaves 
within. It was decided that they should take turns 
keeping watch for, despite the fact that no signs of 
Indians had been seen, Mr. Grayson had no intention 
of being taken unawares. He had kept his thoughts 
to himself, for he had no wish to arouse the boys' 
fears or make them nervous, but he realized that 
they were far from safe. He had no idea how 
far they had come from the old temple or in what 
direction and for all he knew, the Indians who had 
attacked them might have heard Rob's gun, and with 
this to guide them, they might even now be lurking 
in the forest near at hand. 

But the night passed quietly and having break- 
fasted on the remains of the monkeys, the three left 
the bridge behind and entered the forest along the 
ancient Spanish highway. It was by no means easy 
traveling for they were constantly compelled to 


250 


THE END OF THE TRAIL 


251 


climb over or crawl under the fallen trees and 
branches; in many places they were obliged to cut 
their way through the jungle and lianas which had 
spread across the road, and there were numerous 
streams to be forded. Some of these had evidently 
been bridged in the past, for the remains of stone 
abutments could still be traced, and once or twice, 
the low, ruined walls of buildings were noticed be- 
side the road. 

Game was abundant and Rob secured a paca and 
an agouti and camp was made in the shelter of a 
giant tree in the forest. All through the forenoon 
of the next day they tramped on, — the road becom- 
ing more and more difficult to follow and leading 
over many hills and through numerous hollows. 
Then, as they followed the scarce distinguishable 
way along a steep mountainside, the road came to an 
abrupt end at the verge of an immense precipitous 
scarf ; an impassable gulf, a gaping wound a hundred 
feet in depth and a mile wide extending from base 
to summit of the mountain. 

“There's the answer to the puzzle,” announced 
Mr. Grayson. “A landslide's torn away half the 
mountainside carrying the road with it.” 

“Well, I suppose we’ll have to go around it,” said 
Fred resignedly. 

“I expect that's the only way,” replied the scien- 
tist. “Though the Lord knows if we’ll be able to 
find the road on the further side.” 


252 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


For an hour or two they slipped, slid and fought 
their way through the forest down the mountainside. 
Then, to their ears, came the sound of falling water 
and three minutes later they stood beside a tumbling, 
foaming river. 

All ideas of climbing back up the mountain were 
abandoned in favor of following the river. As they 
proceeded, the ground became less rough and broken, 
the river widened and flowed more slowly and, 
within an hour, the stream was flowing tranquilly 
through level country covered with an open, park- 
like forest. 

“Hurrah! now we can build another raft,” cried 
Fred. “I’ve had enough tramping to last all my 
life.” 

“Yes, we’ll build a raft to-morrow,” agreed Mr. 
Grayson. “But it’s too late to attempt it to-day. 
We’ll have a good rest and take things easy. It 
looks to me as if we wouldn’t have far to travel. 
I think we’re on the coastal plains now.” 

A fire was soon started, and while the dinner was 
cooking the boys lolled on the grassy bank of the 
stream, resting their tired limbs. 

“Let’s take a swim,” suggested Rob. “The river 
looks fine.” 

“All right,” assented Fred. Leaving Mr. Gray- 
son to attend to the cooking, the two boys made their 
way towards an inviting sand beach a few rods from 
the fire. 


THE END OF THE TRAIL 


253 


Suddenly Rob grasped Fred’s arm and jerked him 
behind a tree. “Look!” he exclaimed in low tones 
and pointing across the river. “What’s that? See, 
back of those vines beside that fallen tree.” 

Fred peered intently at the spot indicated. At 
first he saw nothing, then something moved, there 
was a little splash in the water and a faint rattle 
as of wood striking on wood. 

“It’s a canoe,” whispered Fred in shaking tones, 
“and an Indian!” 

“Two!” ejaculated Rob. 

“And they’re coming this way!” cried Fred. 

With one accord, the two boys scurried from their 
hiding place and fairly threw themselves on Mr. 
Grayson. 

“Quick!” cried Fred. “Look across the river, — 
a canoe with Indians. They’re coming after us.” 

Mr. Grayson whirled about towards the river. 
There, in plain sight, and coming swiftly towards 
them was a big dugout canoe manned by two In- 
dians. 

“Let’s run,” urged Fred. 

Rob seized his gun. “Shall I shoot at them or 
over them?” he asked. 

“Don’t shoot at all,” replied the scientist, “and 
don’t run. Those chaps won’t hurt us, — they’re 
civilized Indians, — don’t you see they’re wearing 
trousers? Boys, we’re saved!” 

Stepping forward, with the two boys, somewhat 


254 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


shamefaced, following, Mr. Grayson greeted the 
approaching Indians in Spanish to which the Indians 
replied in the same tongue. 

Then, as the dugout grated on the shore, the In- 
dians stepped out, and very deliberately and cere- 
moniously, shook hands with Mr. Grayson and the 
boys in turn. 

They were stocky, pleasant-faced fellows and in 
short, disjointed sentences explained that they were 
Valiente Indians on a hunting and fishing trip, that 
their camp was up a creek on the other shore, and 
that seeing the white men, they had come across in 
the hope of obtaining tobacco and rum. 

No trace of surprise or disappointment was visible 
on their faces as Mr. Grayson explained that he and 
his companions were lost and had been wandering 
in the forest for many days and that they had 
neither tobacco nor any other possessions. But the 
redmen willingly agreed to carry the three down 
the river to the settlements and assured Mr. Grayson 
that in five days’ paddling they could reach Chiriqui 
Lagoon and Bocas del Toro. 

Ten minutes later the boys and the scientist were 
dining with their Indian friends at the latters’ 
thatched camp across the river and that night they 
once more slept comfortably in hammocks. 

The Indians had already finished their hunt, and 
with the canoe deeply laden with jerked meat, dried 


THE END OF THE TRAIL 


255 


fish and the three additional passengers, the journey- 
down stream was begun at daybreak. 

It was a wonderful sensation to feel that all 
troubles were over, that in a few days more they 
would be back to railway trains, steamships and 
busy cities, and the boys could scarcely realize it. 

“I can’t believe it’s not all a dream, especially the 
mine,” declared Rob. 

“Neither can I, until I touch that lump of gold 
in my pocket,” said Fred, then as an afterthought, 
he exclaimed: “But how will we ever find the road 
again?” 

“Easily,” replied Mr. Grayson. “Just look back 
at that high mountain. That landslip stands out like 
a sore finger. You’ll have no trouble locating the 
road with that signpost to guide you.” 

There is little need to describe the rest of the 
boys’ journey. The trip down river was uneventful 
and on the fifth day the canoe was run ashore at 
an Indian village a few hours’ paddle from Bocas 
del Toro and two days later the three were safely 
back in Christobal. 

Mr. Wilson had not returned from Costa Rica 
and a cable was sent to tell him of the boys’ arrival. 
As he had felt they were perfectly safe in Mr. Gray- 
son’s care he had not worried, although they had 
been absent nearly two weeks longer than planned, 


256 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


for he knew the uncertainty of scientific expeditions 
in respect to such matters. 

With the help of Mr. Grayson and their many 
friends the boys at once filed a claim to the mine 
which the scientist, after consulting many old maps 
and records, declared was on Panamanian territory. 

Over and over again the boys related the story 
of their adventures and many narrow escapes to the 
never-ending wonder and envy of their boy scout 
friends. But no one was more interested than old 
Cap’n Jack. 

“I allers know’d you’d beat me fer a runnin’ 
afoul o’ a’ventures,” he declared. “Sink me, lads, 
if ye ain’t had enough to last ye the rest o’ yer lives. 
An’ to think that there splay-footed nigger run 
athwart yer hawse ag’in. Well! well! An’ now 
ye’re a pair o’ bloomin’ millionaires an’ a ownin’ o’ 
a honest- fer-true mine, — or leastwise ye will be, 
soon’s as ye git yer claim.” 

“You’ll have to go with us when we start to 
reopen it,” declared Fred. 

The old sailor shook his head. “No, son,” he 
exclaimed, “ye don’t catch me a stompin’ into them 
places wi’ this ere timber leg o’ mine. I’m a gettin’ 
too old fer such carryin’ on. Lor’ bless ye !” 

“Well, you can have a gold leg, if you want,” 
laughed Rob. “We’re going to give you a share in 


THE END OF THE TRAIL 


257 


the mine you know. We’ve talked it all over and 
we won’t take 'no’ for an answer.” 

"That’s right,” added Fred, "we’ve got you down 
already in the papers as a shareholder and they’re 
all filed and recorded, so you can’t back out.” 

"Lor’ love ye!” cried the old salt with a suspi- 
cious quaver in his deep voice. "What’ll a ol’ 
sailor-man do with all that there money? All I 
wants is just enough to keep me in baccy an’ duds. 
Why, lads ! them lumps o’ gold ye give me’ll more’n 
keep me all my days an’ give me a bloomin’ fine send 
off to me last port, asides.” 

In a few days Mr. Wilson arrived and the boys’ 
story was again related to his wondering ears. 

"Are you sure that mine is in Panama?” he asked 
after he had marveled sufficiently at the boys’ re- 
markable tale. 

"There’s no question about it,” declared Mr. 
Grayson. "I’ve gone over every available map and 
I’m positive the boundary is fully ten miles to the 
north, — the other side of that double peaked moun- 
tain in fact. But the exact boundary is a bit 
uncertain and, to make assurance doubly sure, I’ve 
filed an application for mining rights to about 200 
square miles in Costa Rican territory. We don’t 
want the boys to lose their find through oversight.” 

"Hmm,” muttered Mr. Wilson. "It’s time you 
received some notice regarding your application. 


258 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


I’m going over to Panama to-morrow and I’ll look 
into the matter and poke up Don Anastasio. There’s 
no reason for any such delay.” 

“Did you see Don Anastasio ? What did he say?” 
cried the two boys when Mr. Wilson returned from 
Panama the next evening. 

“Pm afraid I have some bad news for you,” he 
replied. “It seems the district covered by your 
application is not government land. It is owned, 
or at least claimed, by a man named Cabral, — Pedro 
Esquival Maria Santos de Cabral, is his full name.” 

“Then we can’t get the mine,” exclaimed Fred 
dejectedly. 

“And won’t the fellows laugh at us,” put in Rob. 

“Wait a bit,” continued Mr. Wilson. “Cabral 
doesn’t own the mineral rights and he couldn’t pre- 
vent you from mining but as he owns all the sur- 
rounding land you’ll have to secure his consent 
before you can build a road or fell a tree to reach 
the mines. I’ve talked the matter over with Grayson 
and Don Anastasio — and they both agree with me 
that to reach the mine it’s necessary to cross Cabral’s 
property.” 

“Unless you take the route we followed, and 
which is hardly practical,” agreed Mr. Grayson. 

“Let’s hurry up and get his permission then,” said 
Rob. 

“There’s the trouble,” replied Mr. Wilson. 


THE END OF THE TRAIL 


259 


“Cabral's present whereabouts are unknown. When 
last heard from he was over in Colombia or 
Venezuela." 

“Then the mine’s no use to us till we find that 
Cabral person,” sighed Fred. “And now every one 
knows about it and somebody’ll find Cabral and get 
the mine ahead of us.” 

Mr. Wilson’s eyes twinkled. “Oh, not quite so 
bad as that,” he declared. From his pocket he drew 
a bulky official envelope and handed it across the 
table to the boys. “Here’s your concession to the 
Tisingal Mine,” he said. 

“And here’s another from the Costa Rican gov- 
ernment,” added the scientist producing a second 
envelope. 

The boys, too confused, elated and surprised to 
speak, gazed helplessly at the documents before 
them. 

“And as for that 'Cabral person’ as you call him,” 
said Mr. Wilson, “I think we can locate him. Gray- 
son thinks he knows him, — bought a lot of antiqui- 
ties from him last year.” 

“Yes,” declared the scientist, “I commissioned him 
to collect for me. He said he was going over to 
Goajira. I think it will be worth while to go over 
and look him up.” 

“Oh, can’t we go, too ?” cried the boys in chorus. 

“As a business proposition I suppose it will be 


260 THE TRAIL OF THE CLOVEN FOOT 


a good investment, 1 ” said Mr. Wilson judicially. 
“Let's see, when does the next steamer leave, Gray- 
son?” 

But the other's reply was drowned by the boys' 
rousing cheers. 













































































































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